University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


MRS.    STOWE'S     NOVELS. 

UNIFORM    EDITIONS. 

UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN. 
NINA    GORDON. 
AGNES    OF  SORRENTO. 
THE    MINISTERS    WOOING. 

•^ 

THE    MAYFLOWER. 

THE    PEARL    OF    ORRS    ISLAND. 

OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Eacli  in   one  •vol'u.m.e   12mo. 
IPrice,  $  3.OO. 

FIELDS,   OSGOOD,   &  CO.,  Publishers. 


OLDTOWN    FOLKS 


BY 


HARRIET    BEECHER    STOWE, 

AUTHOR  OF  "UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN,"  ETC 


BOSTON: 
FIELDS,    OSGOOD,    &    CO., 

SUCCESSORS  TO   TICKNOR   AND  FIELDS. 
1869. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 

HARRIET     BEECHER     STOWE, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Connecticut. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  :  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


J 

the 
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Ea 


PREFACE. 


READER,  — It  is  customary  to  omit  pre- 
faces.  I  beg  you  to  make  an  exception  in  my  par- 
ticular case ;  I  have  something  I  really  want  to  say.  I 
have  an  object  in  this  book,  more  than  the  mere  telling 
of  a  story,  and  you  can  always  judge  of  a  book  better 
if  you  compare  it  with  the  author's  object.  My  object 
is  to  interpret  to  the  world  the  New  England  life  and 
character  in  that  particular  time  of  its  history  which 
may  be  called  the  seminal  period.  I  would  endeavor 
to  show  you  New  England  in  its  seed-bed,  before  the 
hot  suns  of  modern  progress  had  developed  its  sprout- 
ing germs  into  the  great  trees  of  to-day. 

New  England  has  been  to  these  United  States  what 
the  Dorian  hive  was  to  Greece.  It  has  always  been  a 

pital   country   to   emigrate   from,   and   North,    South, 

st,  and  West  have  been  populated  largely  from  New 
England,  so  that  the  seed-bed  of  New  England  was 
the  seed-bed  of  this  great  American  Republic,  and  of 
all  that  is  likely  to  come  of  it. 

New  England  people  cannot  be  thus  interpreted  with- 
out calling  into  view  many  grave  considerations  and 
necessitating  some  serious  thinking. 

In  doing  this  work,  I  have  tried  to  make  my  mind 
as  still  and  passive  as  a  looking-glass,  or  a  mountain 
lake,  and  then  to  give  you  merely  the  images  reflected 
there.  I  desire  that  you  should  see  the  characteristic 


IV  PREFACE. 

persons  of  those  times,  and  hear  them  talk ;  and  some- 
times I  have  taken  an  author's  liberty  of  explaining  their 
characters  to  you,  and  telling  you  why  they  talked  and 
lived  as  they  did. 

My  studies  for  this  object  have  been  Pre-Kaphaelite, — 
taken  from  real  characters,  real  scenes,  and  real  incidents. 
And  some  of  those  things  in  the  story  which  may  appear 
most  romantic  and  like  fiction  are  simple  renderings  and 
applications  of  facts. 

Any  one  who  may  be  curious  enough  to  consult  Rev. 
Elias  Nason's  book,  called  "  Sir  Charles  Henry  Frankland, 
or  Boston  in  the  Colonial  Times,"  will  there  see  a  full 
description  of  the  old  manor-house  which  in  this  story  is 
called  the  Dench  House.  It  was  by  that  name  I  always 
heard  it  spoken  of  in  my  boyhood. 

In  portraying  the  various  characters  which  I  have  in- 
troduced, I  have  tried  to  maintain  the  part  simply  of  a 
sympathetic  spectator.  I  propose  neither  to  teach  nor 
preach  through  them,  any  farther  than  any  spectator  of 
life  is  preached  to  by  what  he  sees  of  the  workings  of 
human  nature  around  him. 

Though  Calvinist,  Arminian,  High-Church  Episcopa- 
lian, sceptic,  and  simple  believer  all  speak  in  their  turn, 
I  merely  listen,  and  endeavor  to  understand  and  faith- 
fully represent  the  inner  life  of  each.  I  myself  am  but 
the  observer  and  reporter,  seeing  much,  doubting  much, 
questioning  much,  and  believing  with  all  my  heart  in 
only  a  very  few  things. 

And  so  I  take  my  leave  of  you. 

HORACE  HOLYOKE. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I.  PAGB 

OLDTOWN  AND  THE  MINISTER 1 

CHAPTER    II. 
MY  FATHER 11 

CHAPTER    III. 
Mr  GRANDMOTHER 18 

CHAPTER    IV. 
THE  VILLAGE  DO-NOTHING 28 

CHAPTER    V. 
THE  OLD  MEETING-HOUSE 39 

CHAPTER    VI. 
FIRE-LIGHT  TALKS  IN  MY  G-RANDMOTHER'S  KITCHEN  ...      61 

CHAPTER    VII. 
OLD  CRAB  SMITH 85 

CHAPTER   VIII. 
Miss  ASPHYXIA 97 

CHAPTER    IX. 
HARRY'S  FIRST  DAY'S  WORK 109 

CHAPTER    X. 

Miss  ASPHYXIA'S  SYSTEM  .  115 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTEE    XI. 
THE  CRISIS 128 

CHAPTER    XII. 
THE  LION'S  MOUTH  SHUT    ........     134 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE  EMPTY  BIRD'S-NEST    .        .        .        .     •    .        .        .        .     141 

CHAPTER    XIY. 
THE  DAY  IN  FAIRY-LAND 146 

CHAPTER    XV. 
THE  OLD  MANOR-HOUSE 159 

CHAPTER    XVI. 
SAM  LAWSON'S  DISCOVERIES        .......     169 

CHAPTER   XVII. 
THE  VISIT  TO  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE 179 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 
TINA'S  ADOPTION 198 

CHAPTER    XIX. 
Miss  MEHITABLE'S  LETTER,  AND  THE  REPLY,   GIVING  FURTHER 

HINTS  OF  THE  STORY 212 

CHAPTER    XX. 
Miss  ASPHYXIA  GOES  IN  PURSUIT,  AND  MY  GRANDMOTHER  GIVES 

HER  VIEWS  ON  EDUCATION  .......     234 

CHAPTER    XXI. 
WHAT  is  TO  BE  DONE  WITH  THE  BOY? 249 

CHAPTER    XXII. 
DAILY  LIVING  IN  OLDTOWN 261 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

WE  TAKE  A  STEP  UP  IN  THE  WORLD  ,     274 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 
WE  BEHOLD  GRANDEUR 290 

CHAPTER    XXV. 
EASTER  SUNDAY 305 

CHAPTER    XXYI. 
WHAT  "OuR  FOLKS"  SAID  AT  OLDTOWN 325 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 
How  WE  KEPT  THANKSGIVING  AT  OLDTOWN       ....    336 

CHAPTER    XXVIII. 
THE  RAID  ON  OLDTOWN,  AND  UNCLE  FLIAKLM'S  BRAVERY.        .    354 

CHAPTER   XXIX. 
MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  BLUE  BOOK 367 

CHAPTER   XXX. 

WE    BEGIN    TO    BE    GROWN-UP   PEOPLE 391 

CHAPTER   XXXI. 
WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO  WITH  TINA?      ......    405 

CHAPTER    XXXII. 
THE  JOURNEY  TO  CLOUDLAND 414 

CHAPTER    XXXIII. 
SCHOOL-LIFE  IN  CLOUDLAND 421 

CHAPTER    XXXIV. 
OUR  MINISTER  IN  CLOUDLAND 441 

CHAPTER   XXXV. 
THE  REVIVAL  OP  RELIGION 457 

CHAPTER    XXXVI. 
AFTER  THE  REVIVAL 468 

CHAPTER    XXXVII. 
THE  MINISTER'S  WOOD-SPELL     .  ,    478 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 
ELLERY  DAVENPORT 487 

CHAPTER    XXXIX. 
LAST  DAYS  IN  CLOUDLAND. 498 

CHAPTER    XL. 
WE  ENTER  COLLEGE   .        .        . 508 

CHAPTER    XLI. 
NIGHT  TALKS 519 

CHAPTER    XLII. 
SPRING  VACATION  AT  OLDTOWN 525 

CHAPTER    XLIII. 
WHAT  OUR  FOLKS  THOUGHT  ABOUT  IT  ....    535 

CHAPTER    XLIV. 
MARRIAGE  PREPARATIONS 548 

CHAPTER    XLV. 
WEDDING  BELLS          .        .        . 558 

CHAPTER    XLVI. 
WEDDING  AFTER-TALKS  AT  OLDTOWN 570 

CHAPTER    XLVII. 
BEHIND  THE  CURTAIN 576 

CHAPTER    XLVIII. 
TINA'S  SOLUTION 584 

CHAPTER    XLIX. 
WHAT  CAME  OF  IT 592 

CHAPTER    L. 
THE  LAST  CHAPTER  .  ...    602 


OLDTOWN    FOLKS. 

CHAPTER    I. 

OLDTOWN   AND    THE   MINISTER. 

IT  has  always  been  a  favorite  idea  of  mine,  that  there  is  so  much 
of  the  human  in  every  man,  that  the  life  of  any  one  individual, 
however  obscure,  if  really  and  vividly  perceived  in  all  its  aspi- 
rations, struggles,  failures,  and  successes,  would  command  the 
interest  of  all  others.  This  is  my  only  apology  for  offering  my 
life  as  an  open  page  to  the  reading  of  the  public. 

Besides  this,  however,  every  individual  is  part  and  parcel  of  a 
great  picture  of  the  society  in  which  he  lives  and  acts,  and  his  life 
cannot  be  painted  without  reproducing  the  picture  of  the  world 
he  lived  in ;  and  it  has  appeared  to  me  that  my  life  might  recall 
the  image  and  body  of  a  period  in  New  England  most  peculiar 
and  most  interesting,  the  impress  of  which  is  now  rapidly  fading 
away.  I  mean  the  ante-railroad  times,  —  the  period  when  our 
own  hard,  rocky,  sterile  New  England  was  a  sort  of  half  Hebrew 
theocracy,  half  ultra-democratic  republic  of  little  villages,  sep- 
arated by  a  pathless  ocean  from  all  the  civilization  and  refinement 
of  the  Old  World,  forgotten  and  unnoticed,  and  yet  burning  like 
live  coals  under  this  obscurity  with  all  the  fervid  activity  of  an 
intense,  newly  kindled,  peculiar,  and  individual  life.  • 

My  early  life  lies  in  one  of  these  quiet  little  villages,  —  that  of 
Oldtown,  in  Massachusetts.  It  was  as  pretty  a  village  as  ever 
laid  itself  down  to  rest  on  the  banks  of  a  tranquil  river.  The 
stream  was  one  of  those  limpid  children  of  the  mountains,  whose 
brown,  clear  waters  ripple  with  a  soft  yellow  light  over  many- 
colored  pebbles,  now  brawling  and  babbling  on  rocky  bottoms, 

1  A 


2  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

dashing  hither  and  thither  in  tiny  cascades,  throwing  white  spray 
over  green  mossed  rocks,  and  then  again  sweeping  silently,  with 
many  a  winding  curve,  through  soft  green  meadows,  nursing  on 
its  bosom  troops  of  water-lilies,  and  bordering  its  banks  with 
blue  and  white  violets,  snow-flaked  meadow-sweet,  and  wild  iris. 
Hither  and  thither,  in  the  fertile  tracts  of  meadow  or  upland 
through  which  this  little  stream  wound,  were  some  two  dozen 
farm-houses,  hid  in  green  hollows,  or  perched  on  breezy  hill-tops ; 
while  close  alongside  of  the  river,  at  its  widest  and  deepest  part, 
ran  one  rustic  street,  thickly  carpeted  with  short  velvet  green 
grass,  where  stood  the  presiding  buildings  of  the  village. 

First  among  these  was  the  motherly  meeting-house,  with  its 
tall  white  spire,  its  ample  court  of  sheds  and  stalls  for  the  shelter 
of  the  horses  and  the  various  farm-wagons  which  came  in  to  Sun- 
day services.  There  was  also  the  school-house,  the  Academy,  and 
Israel  Scran's  store,  where  everything  was  sold,  from  hoe-handles 
up  to  cambric  needles,  where  the  post-office  was  kept,  and 
where  was  a  general  exchange  of  news,  as  the  different  farm- 
wagons  stood  hitched  around  the  door,  and  their  owners  spent  a 
leisure  moment  in  discussing  politics  or  theology  from  .the  top  of 
codfish  or  mackerel  barrels,  while  their  wives  and  daughters  were 
shopping  among  the  dress  goods  and  ribbons,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  store.  Next  to  the  store  was  the  tavern,  —  with  a  tall  sign- 
post which  used  to  creak  and  flap  in  the  summer  winds,  with  a 
leisurely,  rich,  easy  sort  of  note  of  invitation,  —  a  broad  veranda 
in  front,  with  benches,  —  an  open  tap-room,  where  great  barrels 
of  beer  were  kept  on  draft,  and  a  bar  where  the  various  articles 
proscribed  by  the  temperance  society  were  in  those  days  allowed 
an  open  and  respectable  standing.  This  tavern  veranda  and  tap- 
room was  another  general  exchange,  not  in  those  days  held  in  the 
ill  repute  of  such  resorts  now.  The  minister  himself,  in  all  the 
magnificence  of  his  cocked  hat  and  ample  clerical  \vig,  with  his 
gold-headed  cane  in  his  hand,  would  sometimes  step  into  the  tap- 
room of  a  cold  winter  morning,  and  order  a  mug  of  flip  from  ob- 
sequious Amaziah  the  host,  and,  while  he  sipped  it,  would  lecture 
with  a  severe  gravity  a  few  idle,  ragged  fellows  who  were  spend- 
ing too  much  time  in  those  seductive  precincts.  The  clergy  in 


OLDTOWN  AND   THE  MINISTER.  3 

those  days  felt  that  they  never  preached  temperance  with  so 
warm  a  fervor  as  between  the  comfortable  sips  of  a  beverage  of 
whose  temperate  use  they  intended  to  be  shining  examples.  The 
most  vivid  image  of  respectability  and  majesty  which  a  little  boy 
bora  in  a  Massachusetts  village  in  those  early  days  could  form 
was  the  minister.  In  the  little  theocracy  which  the  Pilgrims 
established  in  the  wilderness,  the  ministry  was  the  only  order  of 
nobility.  They  were  the  only  privileged  class,  and  their  voice 
it  was  that  decided  ex  cathedra  on  all  questions  both  in  Church 
and  State,  from  the  choice  of  a  Governor  to  that  of  the  district- 
school  teacher. 

Our  minister,  as  I  remember  him,  was  one  of  the  cleanest, 
most  gentlemanly,  most  well  bred  of  men,  —  never  appearing 
without  all  the  decorums  of  silk  stockings,  shining  knee  and  shoe 
buckles,  well-brushed  shoes,  immaculately  powdered  wig,  out  of 
which  shone  his  clear,  calm,  serious  face,  like  the  moon  out  of  a 
fleecy  cloud. 

Oldtown  was  originally  an  Indian  town,  and  one  of  the  most 
numerous  and  powerful  of  the  Indian  tribes  had  possessed  the 
beautiful  tracts  of  meadow  and  upland  farms  that  bordered  the 
Sepaug  River.  Here  the  great  apostle  of  the  Indians  had  es- 
tablished the  first  missionary  enterprise  among  them,  under  the 
patronage  of  a  society  in  England  for  the  propagation  of  the  Gos- 
pel in  foreign  parts ;  here  he  had  labored  and  taught  and  prayed 
with  a  fervor  which  bowed  all  hearts  to  his  sway,  and  gathered 
from  the  sons  of  the  forest  a  church  of  devoted  Christians.  The 
harsh  guttural  Indian  language,  in  the  fervent  alembic  of  his  lov- 
ing study,  was  melted  into  a  written  dialect ;  a  Bible  and  hymn- 
book  and  spelling-book  seemed  to  open  a  path  to  an  Indian  lit- 
erature. He  taught  them  agriculture,  and  many  of  the  arts  and 
trades  of  civilized  life.  But  he  could  not  avert  the  doom  which 
seems  to  foreordain  that  those  races  shall  dry  up  and  pass  away 
with  their  native  forests,  as  the  brook  dries  up  when  the  pines 
and  hemlocks  which  shaded  its  source  are  torn  away. 

In  my  boyhood,  three  generations  had  passed  since  the  apostle 
died.  The  elms  which  two  grateful  Indian  catechumens  had  set 
out  as  little  saplings  on  either  side  of  his  gateway  were  now 


4  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

two  beautiful  pillars,  supporting  each  its  firmament  of  leafy 
boughs,  and  giving  a  grand  air  of  scholarly  retirement  to  the 
plain,  old-fashioned  parsonage ;  but  the  powerful  Indian  tribe 
had  dwindled  to  a  few  scattered  families,  living  an  uncertain  and 
wandering  life  on  the  outskirts  of  the  thrift  and  civilization  of 
the  whites. 

Our  minister  was  one  of  those  cold,  clear-cut,  polished  crys- 
tals that  are  formed  in  the  cooling-down  of  society,  after  it  has 
been  melted  and  purified  by  a  great  enthusiasm.  Nobody  can 
read  Dr.  Cotton  Mather's  biography  of  the  first  ministers  of 
Massachusetts,  without  feeling  that  they  were  men  whose  whole 
souls  were  in  a  state  of  fusion,  by  their  conceptions  of  an  endless 
life;  that  the  ruling  forces  which  impelled  them  were  the  sublim- 
ities of  a  world  to  come ;  and  that,  if  there  be  such  a  thing  pos- 
sible as  perfect  faith  in  the  eternal  and  invisible,  and  perfect  loy- 
alty to  God  and  to  conscience,  these  men  were  pervaded  by  it. 

More  than  this,  many  of  them  were  men  of  a  softened  and  ten- 
der spirit,  bowed  by  past  afflictions,  who  had  passed  through  the 
refining  fires  of  martyrdom,  and  come  to  this  country,  counting 
not  home  or  kindred  dear  to  them,  that  they  might  found  a  com- 
monwealth for  the  beloved  name  and  honor  of  One  who  died  for 
them.  Christo  et  Ecclesice,  was  the  seal  with  which  they  conse- 
crated all  their  life-work,  from  the  founding  of  Harvard  Col- 
lege down  to  the  district  school  in  every  village.  These  men 
lived  in  the  full  spirit  of  him  who  said,  "  I  am  crucified  with 
Christ,  nevertheless  I  live:  yet  not  I,  but  Christ  liveth  in  me"; 
and  the  power  of  this  invisible  and  mighty  love  shed  a  softening 
charm  over  the  austere  grandeur  of  their  lives.  They  formed  a 
commonwealth  where  vice  was  wellnigh  impossible  ;  where  such 
landmarks  and  boundaries  and  buttresses  and  breastworks  hedged 
in  and  defended  the  morality  of  a  community,  that  to  go  very  far 
out  of  the  way  would  require  some  considerable  ingenuity  and 
enterprise. 

The  young  men  grew  up  grave  and  decorous  through  the  nurs- 
ing of  church,  catechism,  and  college,  all  acting  in  one  line  ;  and 
in  due  time  many  studious  and  quiet  youths  stepped,  in  regular 
succession,  from  the  college  to  the  theological  course,  and  thence 


OLDTOWN   AND  THE   MINISTER.  6 

to  the  ministry,  as  their  natural  and  appointed  work.  They  re- 
ceived the  articles  of  faith  as  taught  in  their  catechism  without 
dispute,  and  took  their  places  calmly  and  without  opposition  to 
assist  in  carrying  on  a  society  where  everything  had  been  ar- 
ranged to  go  under  their  direction,  and  they  were  the  recog- 
nized and  appointed  leaders  and  governors. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Lothrop  had  come  of  good  ministerial  blood 
for  generations  back.  His  destination  had  always  been  for  the 
pulpit.  He  was  possessed  of  one  of  those  calm,  quiet,  sedate 
natures,  to  whom  the  temptations  of  turbulent  nerves  or  vehe- 
ment passions  are  things  utterly  incomprehensible. 

Now,  however  stringent  and  pronounced  may  be  the  forms  in 
which  one's  traditional  faith  may  have  been  expressed,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  temperament  gradually,  and  with  irresistible  power, 
modifies  one's  creed.  Those  features  of  a  man's  professed  belief 
which  are  unsympathetic  with  his  nature  become  to  his  mind  in- 
volved in  a  perpetual  haze  and  cloud  of  disuse ;  while  certain 
others,  which  are  congenial,  become  vivid  and  pronounced ;  and 
thus,  practically,  the  whole  faith  of  the  man  changes  without  his 
ever  being  aware  of  the  fact  himself. 

Parson  Lothrop  belonged  to  a  numerous  class  in  the  third  gen- 
eration of  Massachusetts  clergy,  commonly  called  Arminian, — 
men  in  whom  this  insensible  change  had  been  wrought  from  the 
sharply  defined  and  pronounced  Calvinism  of  the  early  fathers. 
They  were  mostly  scholarly,  quiet  men,  of  calm  and  philo- 
sophic temperament,  who,  having  from  infancy  walked  in  all  the 
traditions  of  a  virtuous  and  pious  education,  and  passed  from 
grade  to  grade  of  their  progress  with  irreproachable  quiet  and 
decorum,  came  to  regard  the  spiritual  struggles  and  conflicts,  the 
wrestlings  and  tears,  the  fastings  and  temptations  of  their  ances- 
tors with  a  secret  scepticism,  —  to  dwell  on  moralities,  virtues, 
and  decorums,  rather  than  on  those  soul-stirring  spiritual  mys- 
teries which  still  stood  forth  unquestioned  and  uncontradicted  in 
their  confessions  of  faith. 

Parson  Lothrop  fulfilled  with  immaculate  precision  all  the 
proprieties  exacted  in  his  station.  Oldtown  having  been  origi- 
nally an  Indian  missionary  station,  an  annual  stipend  was  paid 


6  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

the  pastor  of  this  town  from  a  fund  originally  invested  in  England 
for  the  conversion  of  the  Indians ;  and  so  Parson  Lothrop  had 
the  sounding-board  of  Eliot's  pulpit  put  up  over  the  great  arm- 
chair in  his  study,  and  used  to  call  thither  weekly  the  wandering 
remnants  of  Indian  tribes  to  be  catechised.  He  did  not,  like  his 
great  predecessor,  lecture  them  on  the  original  depravity  of  the 
heart,  the  need  of  a  radical  and  thorough  regeneration  by  the 
Holy  Spirit  of  God,  or  the  power  of  Jesus  as  a  Saviour  from 
sin,  but  he  talked  to  them  of  the  evil  of  drunkenness  and  lying 
and  idleness,  and  exhorted  them  to  be  temperate  and  industri- 
ous ;  and  when  they,  notwithstanding  his  exhortations,  continued 
to  lead  an  unthrifty,  wandering  life,  he  calmly  expressed  his 
conviction  that  they  were  children  of  the  forest,  a  race  destined 
to  extinction  with  the  progress  of  civilization,  but  continued  his 
labors  for  them  with  automatic  precision. 

His  Sunday  sermons  were  well-written  specimens  of  the  pur- 
est and  most  elegant  Addisonian  English,  and  no  mortal  could  find 
fault  with  a  word  that  was  in  them,  as  they  were  sensible,  ration- 
al, and  religious,  as  far  as  they  went.  Indeed,  Mr.  Lothrop  was 
quite  an  elegant  scholar  and  student  in  literature,  and  more  than 
once  surprise  had  been  expressed  to  him  that  he  should  be  will- 
ing to  employ  his  abilities  in  so  obscure  a  town  and  for  so  incon- 
siderable a  salary.  His  reply  was  characteristic.  "  My  salary  is 
indeed  small,  but  it  is  as  certain  as  the  Bank  of  England,  and 
retirement  and  quiet  give  me  leisure  for  study." 

He,  however,  mended  his  worldly  prospects  by  a  matrimonial 
union  with  a  widow  lady  of  large  property,  from  one  of  the  most 
aristocratic  families  of  Boston.  Mrs.  Dorothea  Lucretia  Dix- 
well  was  the  widow  of  a  Tory  merchant,  who,  by  rare  skill  in 
trimming  his  boat  to  suit  the  times,  had  come  through  the  Rev- 
olutionary war  with  a  handsome  property  unimpaired,  which, 
dying  shortly  after,  he  left  to  his  widow.  Mrs.  Dixwell  was  in 
heart  and  soul  an  Englishwoman,  an  adorer  of  church  and  king, 
a  worshipper  of  aristocracy  and  all  the  powers  that  be.  She 
owned  a  pew  in  King's  Chapel,  and  clung  more  punctiliously 
than  ever  to  her  prayer-book,  when  all  other  memorials  of  our 
connection  with  the  mother  country  had  departed. 


OLDTOWN  AND   THE  MINISTER.  7 

Could  it  be  thought  that  the  elegant  and  rich  widow  would 
smile  on  the  suit  of  an  obscure  country  Congregational  clergy- 
man ?  Yet  she  did ;  and  for  it  there  were  many  good  reasons. 
Parson  Lothrop  was  a  stately,  handsome,  well-proportioned  man, 
and  had  the  formal  and  ceremonious  politeness  of  a  gentleman 
of  the  old  school,  and  by  family  descent  Mrs.  Dorothea's  remem- 
brance could  trace  back  his  blood  to  that  of  some  very  solid  fam- 
ilies among  the  English  gentry,  and  as  there  were  no  more 
noblemen  to  be  had  in  America,  marrying  a  minister  in  those 
days  was  the  next  best  thing  to  it ;  and  so  Mrs.  Dixwell  became 
Mrs.  Parson  Lothrop,  and  made  a  processional  entrance  into 
Oldtown  in  her  own  coach,  and  came  therein  to  church  the 
first  Sunday  after  her  marriage,  in  all '  the  pomp  of  a  white 
brocade,  with  silver  flowers  on  it  of  life-size,  and  white-satin 
slippers  with  heels  two  inches  high.  This  was  a  great  grace  to 
show  to  a  Congregational  church,  but  Mrs.  Lothrop  knew  the 
duty  of  a  wife,  and  conformed  to  it  heroically.  Nor  was  Parson 
Lothrop  unmindful  of  the  courtesies  of  a  husband  in  this  mat- 
rimonial treaty,  for  it  was  stipulated  and  agreed  that  Madam 
Lothrop  should  have  full  liberty  to  observe  in  her  own  proper 
person  all  the  festivals  and  fasts  of  the  Church  of  England, 
should  be  excused  from  all  company  and  allowed  'to  keep  the 
seclusion  of  her  own  apartment  on  Good  Friday,  and  should 
proceed  immediately  thereafter  in  her  own  coach  to  Boston,  to 
be  present  at  the  Easter  services  in  King's  Chapel.  The  same 
procession  to  Boston  in  her  own  coach  took  place  also  on  Whit- 
sunday and  Christmas.  Moreover  she  decked  her  house  with 
green  boughs  and  made  mince-pies  at  Christmas  time,  and  in 
short  conducted  her  housekeeping  in  all  respects  as  a  zealous 
member  of  the  Church  of  England  ought. 

In  those  days  of  New  England,  the  minister  and  his  wife  were 
considered  the  temporal  and  spiritual  superiors  of  everybody  in 
the  parish.  The  idea  which  has  since  gained  ground,  of  regard- 
ing the  minister  and  his  family  as  a  sort  of  stipendiary  attach- 
ment and  hired  officials  of  the  parish,  to  be  overlooked,  schooled, 
advised,  rebuked,  and  chastened  by  every  deacon  and  deacon's 
wife  or  rich  and  influential  parishioner,  had  not  then  arisen. 


8  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

Parson  Lothrop  was  so  calmly  awful  in  his  sense  of  his  own 
position  and  authority,  that  it  would  have  been  a  sight  worth 
seeing  to  witness  any  of  his  parish  coming  to  him,  as  deacons 
and  influential  parishioners  now-a-days  feel  at  liberty  to  come 
to  their  minister,  with  suggestions  and  admonitions.  His  man- 
ner was  ever  gracious  and  affable,  as  of  a  man  who  habitually 
surveys  every  one  from  above,  and  is  disposed  to  listen  with  in- 
dulgent courtesy,  and  has  advice  in  reserve  for  all  seekers ;  but. 
there  was  not  the  slightest  shadow  of  anything  which  encouraged 
the  most  presuming  to  offer  counsel  in  return.  And  so  the  mar- 
riage with  the  rich  Episcopal  widow,  her  processional  entry 
into  Oldtown,  the  coach  and  outriders,  the  brocade  and  satin  slip- 
pers, were  all  submitted  to  on  the  part  of  the  Oldtown  people 
without  a  murmur. 

The  fact  is,  that  the  parson  himself  felt  within  his  veins  the 
traditional  promptings  of  a  far-off  church  and  king  ancestry,  and 
relished  with  a  calm  delight  a  solemn  trot  to  the  meeting- 
house behind  a  pair  of  fat,  decorous  old  family  horses,  with  a  black 
coachman  in  livery  on  the  box.  It  struck  him  as  sensible  and 
becoming.  So  also  he  liked  a  sideboard  loaded  with  massive 
family  plate,  warmed  up  with  the  ruby  hues  of  old  wines  of  fifty 
years'  ripening,  gleaming  through  crystal  decanters,  and  well- 
trained  man-servants  and  maid-servants,  through  whom  his  wig, 
his  shoes,,  and  all  his  mortal  belongings,  received  daily  and  suita- 
ble care.  He  was  to  Mrs.  Dorothea  the  most  deferential  of 
husbands,  always  rising  with  stately  courtesy  to  offer  her  a  chair 
when  she  entered  an  apartment,  and  hastening  to  open  the  door 
for  her  if  she  wished  to  pass  out,  and  passing  every  morning 
and  evening  the  formal  gallantries  and  inquiries  in  regard  to 
her  health  and  well-being  which  he  felt  that  her  state  and  con- 
dition required. 

Fancy  if  you  can  the  magnificent  distance  at  which  this  sub- 
lime couple  stood  above  a  little  ten-year-old  boy,  who  wore  a 
blue  checked  apron,  and  every  day  pattered  barefoot  after  the 
cows,  and  who,  at  the  time  this  story  of  myself  begins,  had  just, 
by  reaching  up  on  his  little  bare  tiptoes,  struck  the  great  black 
knocker  on  their  front  door. 


OLDTOWN  AND  THE  MINISTER.  9 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  stately  black  servant,  who  had  about 
him  an  indistinct  and  yet  perceptible  atmosphere  of  ministerial 
gravity  and  dignity,  looking  like  a  black  doctor  of  divinity. 

"  Is  Mr.  Lothrop  at  home,"  I  said,  blushing  to  the  roots  of  my 
hair. 

"  Yes,  sonny,"  said  the  black  condescendingly. 

"  Won't  you  please  tell  him  father  's  dying,  and  mother  wants 
him  to  come  quick  ?  "  and  with  that,  what  with  awe,  and  what  with 
grief,  I  burst  into  tears. 

The  kind-hearted  black  relaxed  from  his  majesty  at  once,  and 
said :  "  Lord  bress  yer  soul !  why,  don't  cry  now,  honey,  and 
I'll  jes'  call  missis";  —  and  in  fact,  before  I  knew  it,  he  had 
opened  the  parlor  door,  and  ushered  me  into  the  august  pres- 
ence of  Lady  Lothrop,  as  she  used  to  be  familiarly  called  in  our 
village. 

She  was  a  tall,  thin,  sallow  woman,  looking  very  much  like 
those  portraits  by  Copley  that  still  adorn  some  old  houses  in 
Boston ;  but  she  had  a  gentle  voice,  and  a  compassionate,  wo- 
manly way  with  her.  She  comforted  me  with  a  cake,  which  she 
drew  from  the  closet  in  the  sideboard ;  decanted  some  very 
choice  old  wine  into  a  bottle,  which  she  said  I  was  to  carry  to 
my  mother,  and  be  sure  and  tell  her  to  take  a  little  of  it  herself. 
She  also  desired  me  to  give  her  a  small  book  which  she  had 
found  of  use  in  times  of  affliction,  called  "  The  Mourner's  Com- 
panion," consisting  mainly  of  choice  selections  from  the  English 
Book  of  Common  Prayer. 

When  the  minister  came  into  the  room  I  saw  that  she  gave  a 
conjugal  touch  to  the  snowy  plaited  frill  of  his  ruffled  shirt,  and 
a  thoughtful  inspection  to  the  wide  linen  cambric  frills  which  set 
off  his  well-formed  hand,  and  which  were  a  little  discomposed  by 
rubbing  over  his  writing-table,  —  nay,  even  upon  one  of  them  a 
small  stain  of  ink  was  visible,  as  the  minister,  unknown  to  him- 
self, had  drawn  his  ruffles  over  an  undried  portion  of  his  next 
Sunday's  sermon. 

"  Dinah  must  attend  to  this,"  she  said ;  "  here 's  a  spot  requir- 
ing salts  of  lemon ;  and,  my  dear,"  she  said,  in  an  insinuating 
tone,  holding  out  a  richly  bound  velvet  prayer-book,  "  would  you 
1* 


10  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

not  like  to  read  our  service  for  the  Visitation  of  the  Sick,  —  it  is 
so  excellent." 

"  I  am  well  aware  of  that,  my  love,"  said  the  minister,  repel- 
ling her  prayer-book  with  a  gentle  stateliness,  "  but  I  assure  you, 
Dorothea,  it  would  not  do,  —  no,  it  would  not  do." 

I  thought  the  good  lady  sighed  as  her  husband  left  the  house, 
and  looked  longingly  after  him  'through  the  window  as  he  walked 
down  the  yard.  She  probably  consoled  herself  with  the  reflec- 
tion that  one  could  not  have  everything,  and  that  her  spouse,  if 
not  in  the  Established  Church  of  England,  was  every  way  fitted 
to  adorn  it  had  he  only  been  there. 


MY  FATHER.  11 

CHAPTER    II. 

MY   FATHER. 

MY  good  reader,  it  must  sometimes  have  fallen  under  your 
observation  that  there  is  a  class  of  men  who  go  through 
life  under  a  cloud,  for  no  other  reason  than  that,  being  born  with 
the  nature  of  gentlemen,  they  are  nevertheless  poor.  Such  men 
generally  live  under  a  sense  of  the  dissatisfaction  and  rebuke 
of  our  good  mother  world ;  and  yet  it  is  easy  to  see  all  the 
while  that  even  a  moderate  competence  would  at  any  moment 
turn  their  faults  into  virtues,  and  make  them  in  everybody's 
opinion  model  characters. 

Now  you  know  there  are  plants  to  whom  poor  soil  or  rich  soil 
seems  to  make  no  manner  of  difference.  Your  mullein  and  your 
burdock  do  admirably  on  a  gravelly  hillside,  and  admirably  in 
rich  garden  soil.  Nothing  comes  amiss  with  them.  But  take  a 
saffVano  rose  or  a  hyacinth  and  turn  it  out  to  shift  for  itself  by 
the  roadside,  and  it  soon  dwindles  and  pines,  and  loses  its  color 
and  shape,  till  everybody  thinks  such  a  wretched,  ragged  speci- 
men of  vegetation  had  better  be  out  of  the  world  than  in  it. 

From  all  I  remember  of  my  poor  father,  he  had  the  organiza- 
tion and  tastes  of  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman ;  but  he  was  born  the 
son  of  a  poor  widow,  who  hardly  knew  from  week  to  week  where 
the  few  hard-earned  dollars  were  to  come  from  which  kept  her 
and  her  boy  in  the  very  plainest  food  and  clothing.  So  she 
thought  herself  happy  when  she  apprenticed  him  to  a  paper- 
maker.  Thence  he  had  fought  his  way  up  with  his  little  boy 
hands  towards  what  to  him  was  light  and  life,  —  an  education. 
Harvard  College,  to  his  eyes,  was  like  the  distant  vision  of  the 
New  Jerusalem  to  the  Christian.  Thither  he  aspired,  thither  he 
meant  to  go.  Through  many  a  self-denial,  many  an  hour  of 
toil,  —  studying  his  Latin  grammar  by  night  in  the  paper-mill, 
saving  his  odd  pennies,  and  buying  book  after  book,  and  treasur- 
OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


12  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

ing  each  one  as  a  mine  of  wealth,  —  he  went  on,  till  finally  he 
gained  enough  of  a  standing  to  teach,  first  the  common  school, 
and  then  the  Academy. 

While  he  was  teacher  of  the  Academy  he  made  his  first  false 
step,  which  was  a  false  step  only  because  he  was  poor,  —  he  fell 
in  love  with  my  mother.  If  he  had  been  well  to  do  in  the  world, 
everybody  would  have  said  that  it  was  the  most  natural  and 
praiseworthy  thing  possible.  It  was  some  extenuation  of  his 
fault  that  my  poor  mother  was  very  pretty  and  attractive,  — 
she  was,  in  fact,  one  of  my  father's  prettiest  scholars.  He  saw 
her  daily,  and  so  the  folly  grew  upon  him,  till  he  was  ready  to 
sacrifice  his  life's  object,  and  consent  to  be  all  his  days  a  poor 
academy  teacher  in  Oldtown,  that  he  might  marry  her. 

One  must  be  very  much  of  a  woman  for  whom  a  man  can 
sacrifice  the  deepest  purpose  of  his  life  without  awaking  to  re- 
gret it.  I  do  not  say  that  my  father  did  so ;  and  yet  I  could 
see,  from  the  earliest  of  my  recollection,  that  ours  was  a  house- 
hold clouded  by  suppressed  regrets,  as  well  as  embarrassed  by 
real  wants. 

My  mother  was  one  of  those  bright,  fair,  delicate  New  Eng- 
land girls  who  remind  us  of  the  shell-pink  of  the  wood-anem- 
one, or  the  fragile  wind-flower ;  and  every  6ne  must  remember 
how  jauntily  they  toss  their  gay  little  heads  as  they  grow  in  their 
own  mossy  dells,  at  the  root  of  old  oaks  or  beeches,  but  how 
quickly  they  become  withered  and  bedraggled  when  we  gather 
them. 

My  mother's  gayety  of  animal  spirits,  her  sparkle  and  vivacity, 
all  went  with  the  first  year  of  marriage.  The  cares  of  house- 
keeping, the  sicknesses  of  maternity  and  nursing,  drained  her 
dry  of  all  that  was  bright  and  attractive ;  and  my  only  recollec- 
tions of  her  are  of  a  little  quiet,  faded,  mournful  woman,  who 
looked  on  my  birth  and  that  of  my  brother  Bill  as  the  greatest 
of  possible  misfortunes,  and  took  care  of  us  with  a  discouraged 
patience,  more  as  if  she  pitied  us  for  being  born  than  as  if  she 
loved  us. 

My  father  seemed  to  regard  her  with  a  half-remorseful  tender- 
ness, as  he  strove  by  extra  reading  and  study  to  make  up  for  the 


MY  FATHER.  13 

loss  of  that  education  the  prospect  of  which  he  had  sacrificed 
in  his  marriage.  In  common  with  a  great  many  scholars 
of  that  day  and  of  this,  he  ignored  his  body  altogether,  and 
tasked  and  strained  his  brain  with  night  studies  till  his  health 
sank  under  it ;  and  Consumption,  which  in  New  England  stands 
ever  waiting  for  victims,  took  his  cold  hand  in  hers,  and  led  him 
quietly  but  irresistibly  downward. 

Such,  to  this  moment,  was  my  father's  history  ;  and  you  will 
see  the  truth  of  what  I  have  been  saying,  —  that  a  modest  little 
property  would  have  changed  all  his  faults  and  mistakes  into  pro- 
prieties and  virtues. 

He  had  been  sick  so  long,  so  very  long,  it  seemed  to  my  child- 
mind  !  and  now  there  was  approaching  him  that  dark  shadow  so 
terrible  to  flesh  and  heart,  in  whose  dimness  every  one  feels  an 
instinctive  longing  for  aid.  That  something  must  be  done  for 
the  dying  to  prepare  them  for  their  last  lonesome  journey  is  a 
strong  instinct  of  every  soul ;  and  I  had  heard  my  mother  pa- 
thetically urging  my  father  that  morning  to  send  for  the  minister. 

"  What  good  will  it  do,  Susy  ?  "  had  been  his  answer,  given 
with  a  sort  of  weary  despondence ;  but  still  he  had  assented,  and 
I  had  gone  eagerly  to  bring  him. 

I  was,  for  my  part,  strong  in  faith.  I  wanted  to  do  something 
for  my  father,  and  I  felt  certain  that  the  minister  would  know 
what  was  the  right  thing ;  and  when  I  set  forth  with  him,  in  his 
full  panoply,  —  wig  and  ruffles  and  gold-headed  cane,  —  I  felt 
somehow  as  if  the  ark  of  the  covenant  was  moving  down  the 
street  to  our  house. 

My  mother  met  the  minister  at  the  door,  with  tears  yet  undried 
in  her  eyes,  and  responded  in  the  fullest  manner  to  the  somewhat 
stately,  but  yet  gracious,  inquiries  which  he  made  as  to  my  father's 
health  and  condition,  and  thanked  him  for  the  kindly  messages 
and  gifts  of  Lady  Lothrop,  which  I  had  brought. 

Then  he  was  shown  into  the  sick-room.  My  father  was  lying 
propped  up  by  pillows,  and  with  the  bright  flush  of  his  afternoon 
fever  on  his  cheeks.  He  was  always  a  handsome  man,  fastidious 
about  his  person  and  belongings ;  and  as  he  lay  with  his  long 
thin  hands  folded  together  over  the  bed-clothes,  his  hair  clinging 


14  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

in  damp  curls  round  his  high  white  forehead,  and  his  large,  clear 
hazel  eyes  kindled  with  an  unnatural  brightness,  he  formed  on 
my  childish  memory  a  picture  that  will  never  fade.  There  was 
in  his  eyes  at  this  moment  that  peculiar  look  of  deep  suffering 
which  I  have  sometimes  seen  in  the  eyes  of  wounded  birds  or 
dying  animals,  —  something  that  spoke  of  a  quiet,  unutterable 
anguish. 

My  father  had  been  not  only  a  scholar,  but  a  thinker,  —  one  of 
those  silent,  peculiar  natures  whose  thoughts  and  reasonings  too 
often  wander  up  and  down  the  track  of  commonly  received  opin- 
ion, as  Noah's  dove  of  old,  without  finding  rest  for  the  sole  of 
their  foot.  When  a  mind  like  this  is  approaching  the  confines 
of  the  eternal  unknown,  there  is  often  a  conflict  of  thought  and 
emotion,  the  utterance  of  which  to  a  receptive  and  sympathizing 
soul  might  bring  relief.  Something  there  was  of  intense  yearn- 
ing and  inquiry  in  the  first  glance  he  threw  on  the  minister,  and 
then  it  changed  to  one  of  weary  languor.  With  the  quick  spirit- 
ual instincts  of  that  last  dying  hour,  he  had  seen  into  the  soul  of 
the  man,  —  that  there  was  nothing  there  for  him.  Even  the 
gold-headed  cane  was  not  the  rod  and  staff  for  him  in  the  dark 
valley. 

There  was,  in  fact,  something  in  the  tranquil,  calm,  unpathetic 
nature  of  that  good  man,  which  rendered  him  peculiarly  inapt  to 
enter  into  the  secret  chamber  of  souls  that  struggle  and  suffer 
and  doubt.  He  had  a  nature  so  evenly  balanced,  his  course  in 
life  had  been  so  quiet  and  unruffled,  his  speculations  and  doubts 
had  been  of  so  philosophical  and  tranquil  a  kind,  that  he  was 
not  in  the  least  fitted  to  become  father  confessor  to  a  sick  and 
wounded  spirit. 

His  nature  was  one  that  inclined  to  certain  stately  formalities 
and  proprieties ;  and  although  he  had,  in  accordance  with  his  sta- 
tion in  the  Congregational  church,  put  from  him  the  forms  of  the 
Church  of  England,  and  was  supposed  to  rely  on  the  extempora- 
neous movements  of  the  hour,  his  devotional  exercises,  never- 
theless, had  as  much  a  stereotype  form  as  if  they  had  been  printed 
in  a  book.  We  boys  always  knew  when  the  time  for  certain 
familiar  phrases  and  expressions  would  occur  in  his  Sunday 


MY   FATHER.  15 

morning  prayer,  and  exactly  the  welcome  words  which  heralded 
the  close  of  the  afternoon  exercise. 

I  remember  now,  as  he  knelt  by  my  father's  bedside,  how  far 
off  and  distant  the  usual  opening  formula  of  his  prayer  made  the 
Great  Helper  to  appear.  "  Supremely  great,  infinitely  glorious, 
and  ever-blessed  God,"  it  said,  "  grant  that  we  may  suitably 
realize  the  infinite  distance  between  us,  worms  of  the  dust,  and 
thy  divine  majesty." 

I  was  gazing  earnestly  at  my  father,  as  he  lay  with  his  bright, 
yearning,  troubled  eyes  looking  out  into  the  misty  shadows  of  the 
eternal  world,  and  I  saw  him  close  them  wearily,  and  open  them 
again,  with  an  expression  of  quiet  endurance.  The  infinite  dis- 
tance was  a  thing  that  he  realized  only  too  well ;  but  who  should 
tell  him  of  an  infinite  nearness  by  which  those  who  are  far  off 
are  made  nigh? 

After  the  prayer,  the  minister  expressed  the  hope  that  my 
father  would  be  resigned  to  the  decrees  of  infinite  wisdom,  and 
my  father  languidly  assented ;  and  then,  with  a  ministerial  bene- 
diction, the  whole  stately  apparition  of  ghostly  aid  and  comfort 
departed  from  our  house. 

One  thing,  at  all  events,  had  been  gained,  —  my  father  had 
had  the  minister  and  been  prayed  with,  and  nobody  in  Oldtown 
could  say  that  everything  had  not  been  properly  done,  accord- 
ing to  the  code  of  spiritual  etiquette  generally  established. 
For  our  town,  like  other  little  places,  always  kept  a  wide-awake 
eye  on  the  goings  and  doings  of  her  children.  Oldtown  had  had 
its  own  opinion  of  my  father  for  a  great  while,  and  expressed 
it  freely  in  tea-drinkings,  quiltings,  at  the  store,  and  at  the  tav- 
ern. If  Oldtown's  advice  had  been  asked,  there  were  a  hundred 
things  that  he  did  which  would  have  been  left  undone,  and  a 
hundred  things  done  which  he  did  not  do.  Oldtown  knew  just 
whom  he  ought  to  have  married  instead  of  marrying  my  mother, 
and  was  certain  he  could  have  had  her  too.  Oldtown  knew  just 
how  and  when  he  might  have  made  himself  a  rich  man,  and 
did  n't.  Oldtown  knew  exactly  when,  how,  and  why  he  caught 
the  cold  that  set  him  into  a  consumption,  and  what  he  ought  to 
have  taken  to  cure  it,  and  did  n't.  And  now  he  was,  so  to  speak, 


16  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

dying  under  a  cloud,  just  as  Oldtown  always  knew  he  would. 
But  one  thing  was  certain,  and  Oldtown  was  glad  to  hear  of  it,  — • 
he  was  n't  an  infidel,  as  had  been  at  different  times  insinuated, 
for  he  had  had  the  minister  and  been  prayed  with ;  and  so,  though 
he  never  had  joined  the  church,  Oldtown  indulged  some  hope  for 
his  hereafter. 

When  the  minister  was  gone,  my  father  said,  with  a  weary 
smile  :  "  There,  Susy  dear,  I  hope  you  are  satisfied  now.  My 
poor  child,"  he  added,  gently  drawing  her  to  sit  down  by  him, 
and  looking  at  her  with  the  strange,  solemn  dispassionateness 
of  dying  people,  who  already  begin  to  feel  that  they  are  of  an- 
other sphere,  —  "  my  poor  dear  little  girl !  You  were  so  pretty 
and  so  gay  !  I  did  you  a  great  wrong  in  marrying  you." 

"  O,  don't  say  that  Horace,"  said  my  mother. 

"  It 's  true,  though,"  said  my  father.  "  With  a  richer  and  more 
prosperous  man,  you  might  have  been  blooming  and  happy  yet. 
And  this  poor  little  man,"  said  my  father,  stroking  my  head,  — 
"  perhaps  fate  may  have  something  better  in  store  for  him.  If  I 
had  had  but  the  ghost  of  a  chance,  such  as  some  men  have,  — 
some  who  do  not  value  it,  who  only  throw  it  away,  —  I  might 
have  been  something.  I  had  it  in  me ;  but  no  one  will  ever 
know  it  now.  My  life  is  a  miserable,  disgusting  failure.  Burn 
all  my  papers,  Susy.  Promise  me  that." 

"  I  will  do  just  what  you  say,  Horace." 

"  And,  Susy,  when  I  am  gone,  don't  let  all  the  old  gossips  of 
Oldtown  come  to  croak  and  croon  over  me,  and  make  their  stupid 
remarks  on  my  helpless  body.  I  hate  country  funerals.  Don't 
make  a  vulgar  show  of  me  for  their  staring  curiosity.  Death  is 
dreary  enough  at  best,  but  I  never  could  see  any  sense  in  aggra- 
vating its  horrors  by  stupid  funeral  customs.  Instead  of  dressing 
me  in  those  ghostly,  unnatural  grave-clothes  that  people  seem  to 
delight  in,  just  let  me  be  buried  in  my  clothes  and  let  the  last 
look  my  poor  children  have  of  me  be  as  natural  and  familiar  as 
possible.  The  last  look  of  the  dead  ought  to  be  sacred  to  one's 
friends  alone.  Promise,  now,  Susy,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  promise 
to  do  as  I  say." 

"  O  Horace,  I  do  promise,  —  I  promise  to  do  all  you  say.  You 
know  I  always  have." 


MY  FATHER.  17 

"  Yes,  poor  dear  child,  you  have ;  you  have  been  only  too 
good  for  me." 

"  0  Horace,  how  can  you  say  so ! "  and  my  poor  mother  fell  on 
my  father's  neck  in  a  paroxysm  of  weeping. 

But  his  great,  bright  eyes  gathered  no  tears ;  they  were  fixed 
in  an  awful  stillness.  "My  darling,  you  must  not,"  he  said 
tenderly,  but  with  no  answering  emotion.  "  Calm  yourself. 
And  now,  dear,  as  I  am  sure  that  to-morrow  I  shall  not  be  with 
you,  you  must  send  for  your  mother  to  be  with  you  to-night. 
You  know  she  will  come." 

"  Father,"  said  I  earnestly,  "  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Where  ? "  said  he,  looking  at  me  with  his  clear,  mournful 
eyes.  "  God  knows,  my  son.  I  do  not.  It  ought  to  be  enough 
for  me  that  God  does  know." 


18  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 


CHAPTEE    III. 

MY     GRAND MOTHEK. 

Horace,"  said  my  mother,  "  you  must  run  right 
up  to  your  grandfather's,  and  tell  your  grandmother  to 
come  down  and  stay  with  us  to-night ;  and  you  and  Bill  must 
stay  there." 

Bill,  my  brother,  was  a  year  or  two  older  than  I  was ;  far 
more  healthy,  and  consequently,  perhaps,  far  more  noisy.  At 
any  rate,  my  mother  was  generally  only  too  glad  to  give  her  con- 
sent to  his  going  anywhere  of  a  leisure  afternoon  which  would 
keep  him  out  of  the  house,  while  I  was  always  retained  as  her 
own  special  waiter  and  messenger. 

My  father  had  a  partiality  for  me,  because  I  was  early  an  apt 
reader,  and  was  fond  of  the  quiet  of  his  study  and  his  books. 
He  used  to  take  pride  and  pleasure  in  hearing  me  read,  which  I 
did  with  more  fluency  and  understanding  than  many  children  of 
twice  my  age;  and  thus  it  happened  that,  while  Bill  was  off 
roaming  in  the  woods  this  sunny  autumn  afternoon,  I  was  the 
attendant  and  waiter  in  the  sick-room.  My  little  soul  was  op- 
pressed and  sorrowful,  and  so  the  message  that  sent  me  to  my 
grandmother  was  a  very  welcome  one,  for  my  grandmother  was, 
in  my  view,  a  tower  of  strength  and  deliverance.  My  mother 
was,  as  I  have  said,  a  frail,  mournful,  little,  discouraged  woman ; 
but  my  grandmother  belonged  to  that  tribe  of  strong-backed, 
energetic,  martial  mothers  in  Israel,  who  brought  to  our  life  in 
America  the  vigorous  bone  and  muscle  and  hearty  blood  of  the 
yeomanry  of  Old  England.  She  was  a  valiant  old  soul,  who 
fearlessly  took  any  bull  in  life  by  the  horns,  and  was  ready  to 
shake  him  into  decorum. 

My  grandfather,  a  well-to-do  farmer,  was  one  of  the  chief 
magnates  of  the  village,  and  carried  on  a  large  farm  and  certain 
mills  at  the  other  end  of  it.  The  great  old-fashioned  farm- 


MY   GRANDMOTHER.  19 

house  where  they  lived  was  at  some  distance  fiom  my  father's 
cottage,  right  on  the  banks  of  that  brown,  sparkling,  clear  stream 
I  have  spoken  of. 

My  grandfather  was  a  serene,  moderate,  quiet  man,  upward  of 
sixty,  with  an  affable  word  and  a  smile  for  everybody,  —  a  man 
of  easy  habits,  never  discomposed,  and  never  in  a  hurry,  —  who 
had  a  comfortable  faith  that  somehow  or  other  the  affairs  of  this 
world  in  general,  and  his  own  in  particular,  would  turn  out  all 
right,  without  much  seeing  to  on  his  part. 

My  grandmother,  on  the  contrary,  was  one  of  those  wide- 
awake, earnest,  active  natures,  whose  days  were  hardly  ever  long 
enough  for  all  that  she  felt  needed  to  be  done  and  attended  to. 
She  had  very  positive  opinions  on  every  subject,  and  was  not  at 
all  backward  in  the  forcible  and  vigorous  expression  of  them; 
and  evidently  considering  the  apostolic  gift  of  exhortation  as 
having  come  straight  down  to  her,  she  failed  not  to  use  it  for  the 
benefit  of  all  whom  it  might  concern. 

Oldtown  had  in  many  respects  a  peculiar  sort  of  society.  The 
Indian  tribe  that  once  had  been  settled  in  its  vicinity  had  left 
upon  the  place  the  tradition  of  a  sort  of  wandering,  gypsy,  tramp- 
ing life,  so  that  there  was  in  the  town  an  unusual  number  of  that 
roving,  uncertain  class  of  people,  who  are  always  falling  into 
want,  and  needing  to  be  helped,  hanging  like  a  tattered  fringe  on 
the  thrifty  and  well-kept  petticoat  of  New  England  society. 

The  traditions  of  tenderness,  pity,  and  indulgence  which  the 
apostle  Eliot  had  inwrought  into  the  people  of  his  day  in  regard 
to  the  Indians,  had  descended  through  all  the  families,  and  given 
to  that  roving  people  certain  established  rights  in  every  house- 
hold, which  in  those  days  no  one  ever  thought  of  disowning.  The 
wandering  Indian  was  never  denied  a  good  meal,  a  seat  by  the 
kitchen  fire,  a  mug  of  cider,  and  a  bed  in  the  barn.  My  grand- 
father, out  of  his  ample  apple-orchard,  always  made  one  hogshead 
of  cider  which  was  called  the  Indian  hogshead,  and  which  was 
known  to  be  always  on  tap  for  them ;  and  my  grandmother  not 
only  gave  them  food,  but  more  than  once  would  provide  them  with 
blankets,  and  allow  them  to  lie  down  and  sleep  by  her  great 
kitchen  fire.  In  those  days  New  England  was  such  a  well-watched, 


20  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

and  schooled  and  catechised  community,  and  so  innocent  in  the 
general  tone  of  its  society,  that  in  the  rural  villages  no  one  ever 
locked  the  house  doors  of  a  night.  I  have  lain  awake  many  a 
night  hearing  the  notes  of  the  whippoorwills  and  the  frogs,  and 
listening  to  the  sighing  of  the  breeze,  as  it  came  through  the  great 
wide-open  front-door  of  the  house,  and  swept  up  the  staircase. 
Nobody  ever  thought  of  being  afraid  that  the  tramper  whom  he 
left  asleep  on  the  kitchen  floor  would  rouse  up  in  the  night  and 
rob  the  house.  In  fact,  the  poor  vagrants  were  themselves  tol- 
erably innocent,  not  being  guilty  of  very  many  sins  darker  than 
occasional  drunkenness  and  habitual  unthrift.  They  were  a 
simple,  silly,  jolly  set  of  rovers,  partly  Indian  and  partly  whites 
who  had  fallen  into  Indian  habits,  who  told  stories,  made  baskets, 
drank  cider,  and  raised  puppies,  of  which  they  generally  carried 
a  supply  in  their  wanderings,  and  from  which  came  forth  in  due 
time  an  ample  supply  of  those  yellow  dogs  of  old,  one  of  whom 
was  a  standing  member  of  every  well-regulated  New  England 
family.  Your  yellow  dog  had  an  important  part  to  act  in  life,  as 
much  as  any  of  his  masters.  He  lay  in  the  kitchen  door  and 
barked  properly  at  everything  that  went  by.  He  went  out  with 
the  children  when  they  went  roving  in  the  woods  Saturday  after- 
noon, and  was  always  on  hand  with  a  sober  face  to  patter  on  his 
four  solemn  paws  behind  the  farm-wagon  as  it  went  to  meeting 
of  a  Sunday  morning.  And  in  meeting,  who  can  say  what  an 
infinite  fund  of  consolation  their  yellow,  honest  faces  and  great, 
soft  eyes  were  to  the  children  tired  of  the  sermon,  but  greatly 
consoled  by  getting  a  sly  opportunity  to  stroke  Bose's  yellow 
back?  How  many  little  eyes  twinkled  sympathetically  through 
the  slats  of  the  high-backed  pews,  as  the  tick  of  their  paws  up 
and  down  the  broad  aisle  announced  that  they  were  treating 
themselves  to  that  meditative  locomotion  allowed  to  good  dogs 
in  sermon- time ! 

Surrounded  by  just  such  a  community  as  I  have  described,  my 
grandmother's  gifts  never  became  rusty  for  want  of  exercise. 
Somebody  always  needed  straightening  up  and  attending  to. 
Somebody  was  to  be  exhorted,  rebuked,  or  admonished,  with  all 
long-suffering  and  doctrine ;  and  it  was  cheering  to  behold,  after 


MY   GRANDMOTHER.  21 

years  of  labors  that  had  appeared  to  produce  no  very  brilliant 
results  on  her  disciples,  how  hale  and  vigorous  her  faith  yet  re- 
mained ih  the  power  of  talking  to  people.  She  seemed  to  con- 
sider that  evil-doers  fell  into  sins  and  evils  of  all  sorts  merely 
for  want  of  somebody  to  talk  to  them,  and  would  fly  at  some 
poor,  idle,  loafing,  shiftless  object  who  staggered  past  her  house 
from  the  tavern,  with  the  same  earnestness  and  zeal  for  the 
fortieth  time  as  if  she  had  not  exhorted  him  vainly  for  the 
thirty-nine  before. 

In  fact,  on  this  very  Saturday  afternoon,  as  I  was  coming  down 
the  hill,  whence  I  could  see  the  mill  and  farm-house,  I  caught 
sight  of  her  standing  in  the  door,  with  cap-border  erect,  and  vig- 
orous gesticulation,  upbraiding  a  poor  miserable  dog  commonly 
called  Uncle  Eph,  who  stood  swaying  on  the  bridge,  holding 
himself  up  by  the  rails  with  drunken  gravity,  only  answering  her 
expostulations  by  shaking  his  trembling  fist  at  her,  irreverently 
replying  in  every  pause  of  her  expostulation,  "  You  —  darned  — 
old  sheep  you  !  " 

"  I  do  wonder  now,  mother,  that  you  can't  let  Uncle  Eph  alone," 
said  my  Aunt  Lois,  who  was  washing  up  the  kitchen  floor  behind 
her.  "  What  earthly  good  does  it  do  to  be  talking  to  him  ?  He 
always  has  drank,  and  always  will." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  quoth  my  grandmother ;  "  it 's  a  shame  to 
him,  and  his  wife  lying  there  down  with  rheumatism.  I  don't 
see  how  folks  can  do  so." 

"  And  I  don't  see  as  it  *s  any  of  our  business,"  said  Aunt  Lois. 
u  What  is  it  to  us  ?  We  are  not  our  brother's  keeper." 

"  Well,  it  was  Cain  that  said  that  to  begin  with,"  said  my 
grandmother ;  "  and  I  think  it 's  the  spirit  of  Cain  not  to  care 
wrhat  becomes  of  our  neighbors  !  " 

"  I  can't  help  it  if  it  is.  I  don't  see  the  use  of  fussing  and 
caring  about  what  you  can't  help.  But  there  comes  Horace 
Holyoke,  to  be  sure.  I  suppose,  mother,  you  're  sent  for ;  I  've 
been  expecting  it  all  along.  —  Stand  still  there ! "  she  called  to 
me  as  I  approached  the  door,  "  and  don't  come  in  to  track  my 
floor." 

I  stood  without  the  door,  therefore,  and  delivered  my  message ; 


22  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

and  my  grandmother  promptly  turned  into  her  own  bedroom, 
adjoining  the  kitchen,  to  make  herself  ready  to  go.  I  stood 
without  the  door,  humbly  waiting  Aunt  Lois's  permission  to  en- 
ter the  house. 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  I  suppose  we  've  got  to  have  both 
boys  down  here  to-night.  They  've  got  to  come  here,  I  suppose, 
and  we  may  as  well  have  'em  first  as  last.  It 's  just  what  I  told 
Susy,  when  she  would  marry  Horace  Holyoke.  I  saw  it  just  as 
plain  as  I  see  it  now,  that  we  should  have  to  take  care  of  'era. 
It 's  aggravating,  because  Susy  neglected  her  opportunities.  She 
might  have  been  Mrs.  Captain  Shawmut,  and  had  her  carriage 
and  horses,  if  she  M  only  been  a  mind  to." 

"  But,"  said  my  Aunt  Keziah,  who  sat  by  the  chimney,  knit- 
ting,—  "but  if  she  could  n't  love  Captain  Shawmut,  and  did  love 
Horace  Holyoke  —  " 

"  Fiddlestick  about  that.  Susy  would  'a'  loved  him  well  enough 
if  she  'd  'a'  married  him.  She  'd  'a'  loved  anybody  that  she  mar- 
ried well  enough,  —  she  's  one  of  the  kind  ;  and  he  's  turned  out  a 
very  rich  man,  just  as  I  told  her.  Susy  was  the  only  handsome 
one  in  our  family,  and  she  might  have  done  something  with  her- 
self if  she  'd  had  sense." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Aunt  Keziah,  "  I  can't  blame  people  for 
following  their  hearts.  I  never  saw  the  money  yet  that  would  'a' 
tempted  me  to  marry  the  man  I  did  n't  love." 

Poor  Aunt  Keziah  had  the  reputation  of  being,  on  the  whole, 
about  the  homeliest  woman  in  Oldtown.  She  was  fat  and  ill- 
shapen  and  clumsy,  with  a  pale,  greenish  tinge  to  her  complex- 
ion, watery,  whitish-blue  eyes,  very  rough  thin  hair,  and  ragged, 
scrubby  eyebrows.  Nature  had  been  peculiarly  unkind  to  her ; 
but  far  within  her  ill-favored  body  she  had  the  most  exalted  and 
romantic  conceptions.  She  was  fond  of  reading  Young's  Night 
Thoughts,  Mrs.  Howe's  Meditations,  and  Sir  Charles  Grandison, 
and  always  came  out  strong  on  the  immaterial  and  sentimental 
side  of  every  question.  She  had  the  most  exalted  ideas  of  a 
lofty,  disinterested  devotion,  which  she,  poor  soul !  kept  always 
simmering  on  a  secret  altar,  ready  to  bestow  on  some  ideal  hero, 
if  ever  he  should  call  for  it.  But,  alas !  her  want  of  external 


MY   GRANDMOTHER.  23 

graces  preveDted  any  such  application.  The  princess  was  en- 
chanted behind  a  hedge  of  ragged  and  unsightly  thorns. 

She  had  been  my  mother's  aid  and  confidante  in  her  love 
affair,  and  was  therefore  regarded  with  a  suppressed  displeasure 
by  Aunt  Lois,  who  rejoined,  smartly :  "  I  don't  think,  Kezzy, 
that  you  are  likely  to  be  tempted  with  offers  of  any  sort ;  but 
Susy  did  have  'em,  —  plenty  of  'em,  —  and  took  Horace  Holy- 
oke  when  she  might  V  done  better.  Consequence  is,  we  've 
got  to  take  her  and  her  children  home  and  take  care  of  'em. 
It's  just  our  luck.  Your  poor  folks  are  the  ones  that  are 
sure  to  have  children,  —  the  less  they  have  to  give  'em,  the 
more  they  have.  I  think,  for  my  part,  that  people  that  can't 
provide  for  children  ought  not  to  have  'em.  Susy  's  no  more 
fit  to  bring  up  those  boys  than  a  white  kitten.  There  never 
was  a  great  deal  to  Susy,"  added  Aunt  Lois,  reflectively,  as, 
having  finished  the  ablution  of  the  floor,  she  took  the  dish  of 
white  sand  to  sand  it. 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  said  Aunt  Kezzy,  "  I  don't  blame  Susy  a 
mite.  Horace  Holyoke  was  a  handsome  man,  and  the  Holyokes 
are  a  good  family.  Why,  his  grandfather  was  a  minister,  and 
Horace  certainly  was  a  man  of  talents.  Parson  Lothrop  said,  if 
he  'd  V  had  early  advantages,  there  were  few  men  would  have 
surpassed  him.  If  he  'd  only  been  able  to  go  to  college." 

"  And  why  was  n't  he  able  to  go  to  college  ?  Because  he  must 
needs  get  married.  Now,  when  people  set  out  to  do  a  thing,  I 
like  to  see  'em  do  it.  If  he  'd  a  let  Susy  alone  and  gone  to  col- 
lege, I  dare  say  he  might  have  been  distinguished,  and  all  that. 
I  would  n't  have  had  the  least  objection.  But  no,  nothing  would 
do  but  he  must  get  married,  and  have  two  boys,,  and  then  study 
himself  into  his  grave,  and  leave  'em  to  us  to  take  care  of." 

"  Well  now,  Lois,"  said  my  grandmother,  coming  out  with  her 
bonnet  on,  and  her  gold-headed  cane  in  her  hand,  "  if  I  were  you, 
I  would  n't  talk  so.  What  do  you  always  want  to  fight  Provi- 
dence for  ?  " 

"  Providence  !  "  said  my  Aunt  Lois,  with  a  sniff.  "  I  don't 
call  it  Providence.  I  guess,  if  folks  would  behave  themselves, 
Providence  would  let  them  alone." 


24  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

"Why,  everything  is  ordered  and  foreordained,"  said  Aunt 
Keziah. 

"  Besides  that,"  said  my  grandmother,  setting  down  her  stick 
hard  on  the  floor,  "  there  's  no  use  in  such  talk,  Lois.  What 's 
done  's  done  ;  and  if  the  Lord  let  it  be  done,  we  may.  We  can't 
always  make  people  do  as  we  would.  There  's  no  use  in  being 
dragged  through  the  world  like  a  dog  under  a  cart,  hanging  back 
and  yelping.  What  we  must  do,  we  may  as  well  do  willingly, — 
as  well  walk  as  be  dragged.  Now  we  've  got  Susy  and  her 
children  to  take  care  of,  and  let 's  do  it.  They  've  got  to  come 
here,  and  they  shall  come,  —  should  come  if  fchere  were  forty- 
eleven  more  of  'em  than  there  be,  —  so  now  you  just  shut  up/' 

"  Who  said  they  should  n't  come  ?  "  said  Aunt  Lois.  "  I  want 
to  know  now  if  I  have  n't  moved  out  of  the  front  room  and  gone 
into  the  little  back  chamber,  and  scoured  up  every  inch  of  that 
front-room  chamber  on  my  hands  and  knees,  and  brought  down 
the  old  trundle-bed  out  of  the  garret  and  cleaned  it  up,  on  pur- 
pose to  be  all  ready  for  Susy  and  those  children.  If  I  have  n't 
worked  hard  for  them,  I  'd  like  to  have  any  one  tell  me ;  and  I 
don't  see,  for  my  part,  why  I  should  be  scolded." 

"  She  was  n't  scolding  you,  Lois,"  said  Aunt  Keziah,  pacif- 
ically. 

"  She  was,  too  ;  and  I  never  open  my  mouth,"  said  Lois,  in  an 
aggrieved  tone,  "  that  you  all  don't  come  down  on  me.  I  'm  sure 
I  don't  see  the  harm  of  wishing  Susy  had  married  a  man  that 
could  V  provided  for  her ;  but  some  folks  feel  so  rich,  nothing 
comes  amiss  with  'em.  I  suppose  we  are  able  to  send  both  boys 
to  college,  and  keep  'em  like  gentlemen,  are  n't  we  ?  " 

My  grandmother  had  not  had  the  benefit  of  this  last  volley,  as 
she  prudently  left  the  house  the  moment  she  had  delivered  her- 
self of  her  reproof  to  Aunt  Lois. 

I  was  listening  at  the  door  with  a  troubled  spirit.  Gathering 
from  the  conversation  that  my  father  and  mother,  somehow,  had 
been  improperly  conducted  people,  and  that  I  and  my  brother 
Bill  had  no  business  to  have  been  born,  and  that  our  presence  on 
the  earth  was,  somehow  or  other,  of  the  nature  of  an  imperti- 
nence, making  everybody  a  vast  deal  of  trouble.  I  could  not  bear 


MY   GRANDMOTHER.  25 

to  go  in  ;  and  as  I  saw  my  grandmother's  stately  stoppings  in  the 
distance,  I  ran  after  her  as  fast  as  my  little  bare  feet  could  patter, 
and  seized  fast  hold  of  her  gown  with  the  same  feeling  that 
makes  a  chicken  run  under  a  hen. 

"  Why,  Horace,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  why  did  n't  you  stay 
down  at  the  house  ?  " 

"  I  did  n't  want  to,  grandma ;  please  let  me  go  with  you." 

"  You  must  n't  mind  Aunt  Lois's  talk,  —  she  means  well." 

I  snuffled  and  persisted,  and  so  had  my  own  way,  for  my  grand- 
mother was  as  soft-hearted  to  children  as  any  of  the  meekest  of 
the  tribe  who  bear  that  revered  name ;  and  so  she  did  n't  mind 
it  that  I  slid  back  into  the  shadows  of  my  father's  room,  under 
cover  of  her  ample  skirts,  and  sat  down  disconsolate  in  a  dark 
corner. 

My  grandmother  brought  to  the  sick-room  a  heavier  respon- 
sibility than  any  mere  earthly  interest  could  have  laid  on  her. 
With  all  her  soul,  which  was  a  very  large  one,  she  was  an  ear- 
nest Puritan  Calvinist.  She  had  been  nourished  in  the  sayings 
and  traditions  of  the  Mathers  and  the  Eliots,  and  all  the  first 
generation  of  the  saints  who  had  possessed  Massachusetts.  To 
these  she  had  added  the  earnest  study  of  the  writings  of  Edwards 
and  Bellamy,  and  others  of  those  brave  old  thinkers  who  had 
broken  up  the  crust  of  formalism  and  mechanical  piety  that  was 
rapidly  forming  over  the  New  England  mind. 

My  remembrances  of  her  are  always  as  a  reader.  In  her 
private  chamber  was  always  a  table  covered  with  books;  and 
though  performing  personally  the  greater  share  of  the  labors  of  a 
large  family,  she  never  failed  to  have  her  quiet  hour  every  after- 
noon for  reading,  History  and  biography  she  delighted  in,  but 
she  followed  with  a  keen  relish  the  mazes  of  theology. 

During  the  days  of  my  father's  health  and  vigor,  he  had  one 
of  those  erratic,  combative  minds  that  delight  in  running  logical 
tilts  against  received  opinions,  and  was  skilled  in  finding  the 
weak  point  in  all  assertions.  My  grandmother,  who  believed 
with  heart  and  soul  and  life-blood  everything  that  she  believed 
at  all,  had  more  than  once  been  worsted  by  him  in  arguments 
where  her  inconsiderate  heat  outran  her  logic.  These  remem- 
2 


26  OLDTOWH  FOLKS. 

brances  had  pressed  heavily  on  her  soul  during  the  time  of  his 
sickness,  and  she  had  more  than  once  earnestly  sought  to  bring 
him  to  her  ways  of  thinking,  —  ways  which  to  her  view  were 
the  only  possible  or  safe  ones ;  but  during  his  illness  he  had  put 
such  conversation  from  him  with  the  quick,  irritable  impatience 
of  a  sore  and  wounded  spirit. 

On  some  natures  theology  operates  as  a  subtle  poison ;  and  the 
New  England  theology  in  particular,  with  its  intense  clearness,  its 
sharp-cut  crystalline  edges  and  needles  of  thought,  has  had  in  a 
peculiar  degree  the  power  of  lacerating  the  nerves  of  the  soul, 
and  producing  strange  states  of  morbid  horror  and  repulsion.  The 
great  unanswerable  questions  which  must  perplex  every  thinking 
soul  that  awakes  to  consciousness  in  this  life  are  there  posed  with 
the  severest  and  most  appalling  distinctness.  These  awful  ques- 
tions underlie  all  religions,  —  they  belong  as  much  to  Deism  as 
to  the  strictest  orthodoxy,  —  in  fact,  they  are  a  part  of  human 
perception  and  consciousness,  since  it  cannot  be  denied  that 
Nature  in  her  teaching  is  a  more  tremendous  and  inexorable 
Calvinist  than  the  Cambridge  Platform  or  any  other  platform 
that  ever  was  invented. 

But  in  New  England  society,  where  all  poetic  forms,  all  the 
draperies  and  accessories  of  religious  ritual,  have  been  rigidly  and 
unsparingly  retrenched,  there  was  nothing  between  the  soul  and 
these  austere  and  terrible  problems ;  it  was  constantly  and 
severely  brought  face  to  face  with  their  infinite  mystery.  When 
my  grandmother  came  into  the  room,  it  was  with  an  evident  and 
deep  emotion  working  in  her  strong  but  plain  features.  She 
came  up  to  the  bed  and  grasped  my  father's  hand  earnestly. 

"  Well,  mother,"  he  said,  "  my  time  is  come,  and  I  have  sent 
for  you  to  put  Susy  and  the  children  into  your  hands." 

"  I  '11  take  'em  and  welcome,  —  you  know  that,"  said  my 
grandmother  heartily. 

"  God  bless  you,  mother,  —  I  do  know  it,"  he  said ;  "  but  do 
liave  a  special  eye  on  poor  little  Horace.  He  has  just  my  pas- 
sion for  books  and  study ;  and  if  he  could  be  helped  to  get  an 
education,  he  might  do  what  I  have  failed  to  do.  I  leave  him 
my  books,  —  you  will  try  and  help  him,  mother?" 


MY   GRANDMOTHER.  27 

"  Yes,  my  son,  I  will ;  but  O  nay  sou,  my  sou ! "  she  added 
with  trembling  eagerness,  "  how  is  it  with  you  now  ?  Are  you 
prepared  for  this  great  change  ?  " 

"  Mother,"  he  said  in  a  solemn  voice,  yet  speaking  with  a  great 
effort,  "  no  sane  man  ever  comes  to  my  age,  and  to  this  place 
where  I  lie,  without  thinking  a  great  deal  on  all  these  things.  I 
have  thought,  —  God  knows  how  earnestly,  —  but  I  cannot  talk 
of  it.  We  see  through  a  glass  darkly  here.  There  perhaps  we 
shall  see  clearly.  You  must  be  content  to  leave  me  where  I 
leave  myself,  —  in  the  hands  of  my  Creator.  He  can  do  no 
wrong  " 


28  OLDTOWK  FOLKS. 

CHAPTER    IV. 

THE    VILLAGE    DO-NOTHING. 

"  "VTTAL  naow,  Horace,  don't  ye  cry  so.  Why,  I  'm  railly 
»  »  concerned  for  ye.  Why,  don't  you  s'pose  your  daddy 's 
better  off  ?  Why,  sartin  /  do.  Don't  cry,  there 's  a  good  boy, 
now.  I  '11  give  ye  my  jack-knife  now." 

This  was  addressed  to  me  the  day  after  my  father's  death, 
while  the  preparations  for  the  funeral  hung  like  a  pall  over  the 
house,  and  the  terror  of  the  last  cold  mystery,  the  tears  of  my 
mother,  and  a  sort  of  bustling  dreariness  on  the  part  of  my  aunts 
and  grandmother,  all  conspired  to  bear  down  on  my  childish 
nerves  with  fearful  power.  It  was  a  doctrine  of  those  good  old 
times,  no  less  than  of  many  in  our  present  days,  that  a  house 
invaded  by  death  should  be  made  as  forlorn  as  hands  could  make 
it.  It  should  be  rendered  as  cold  and  stiff,  as  unnatural,  as  dead 
and  corpse-like  as  possible,  by  closed  shutters,  looking-glasses 
pinned  up  in  white  sheets,  and  the  locking  up  and  hiding  out 
of  sight  of  any  pleasant  little  familiar  object  which  would  be 
thought  out  of  place  in  a  sepulchre.  This  work  had  been  driven 
through  with  unsparing  vigor  by  Aunt  Lois,  who  looked  like  one 
of  the  Fates  as  she  remorselessly  cleared  away  every  little  fa- 
miliar object  belonging  to  my  father,  and  reduced  every  room 
to  the  shrouded  stillness  of  a  well-kept  tomb. 

Of  course  no  one  thought  of  looking  after  me.  It  was  not  the 
fashion  of  those  days  to  think  of  children,  if  only  they  would 
take  themselves  off  out  of  the  way  of  the  movements  of  the 
grown  people ;  and  so  I  had  run  out  into  the  orchard  back  of  the 
house,  and,  throwing  myself  down  on  my  face  under  an  apple- 
tree  in  the  tall  clover,  I  gave  myself  up  to  despair,  and  was  sob- 
bing aloud  in  a  nervous  paroxysm  of  agony,  when  these  words 
were  addressed  to  me.  The  speaker  \vas  a  tall,  shambling, 
loose-jointed  man,  with  a  long,  thin  visage,  prominent  watery 


THE   VILLAGE  DO-NOTHING.  29 

blue  eyes,  very  fluttering  and  seedy  habiliments,  who  occupied 
the  responsible  position  of  first  do-nothing-in-ordinary  in  our 
village  of  Oldtown,  and  as  such  I  must  introduce  him  to  my 
readers'  notice. 

Every  New  England  village,  if  you  only  think  of  it,  must  have 
its  do-nothing  as  regularly  as  it  has  its  school-house  or  meeting- 
house. Nature  is  always  wide  awake  in  the  matter  of  compen- 
sation. Work,  thrift,  and  industry  are  such  an  incessant  steam- 
power  in  Yankee  life,  that  society  would  burn  itself  out  with 
intense  friction  were  there  not  interposed  here  and  there  the 
lubricating  power  of  a  decided  do-nothing,  —  a  man  who  won't 
be  hurried,  and  won't  work,  and  will  take  his  ease  in  his  own 
way,  in  spite  of  the  whole  protest  of  his  neighborhood  to  the  con- 
trary. And  there  is  on  the  face  of  the  whole  earth  no  do-nothing 
whose  softness,  idleness,  general  inaptitude  to  labor,  and  ever- 
lasting, universal  shif'tlessness  can  compare  with  that  of  this 
worthy,  as  found  in  a  brisk  Yankee  village. 

Sam  Lawson  filled  this  post  with  ample  honor  in  Oldtown. 
He  was  a  fellow  dear  to  the  souls  of  all  "  us  boys  "  in  the  vil- 
lage, because,  from  the  special  nature  of  his  position,  he  never 
had  anything  more  pressing  to  do  than  croon  and  gossip  with  us. 
He  was  ready  to  spend  hours  in  tinkering  a  boy's  jack-knife,  or 
mending  his  skate,  or  start  at  the  smallest  notice  to  watch  at  a 
woodchuck's  hole,  or  give  incessant  service  in  tending  a  dog's 
sprained  paw.  He  was  always  on  hand  to  go  fishing  with  us  on 
Saturday  afternoons ;  and  I  have  known  him  to  sit  hour  after 
hour  on  the  bank,  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  boys,  baiting  our 
hooks  and  taking  off  our  fish.  He  was  a  soft-hearted  old  body, 
and  the  wrigglings  and  contortions  of  our  prey  used  to  disturb 
his  repose  so  that  it  was  a  regular  part  of  his  work  to  kill  the  fish 
by  breaking  their  necks  when  he  took  them  from  the  hook. 

"  Why,  lordy  massy,  boys,"  he  would  say,  "  I  can't  bear  to  see 
no  kind  o'  critter  in  torment.  These  'ere  pouts  ain't  to  blame  for 
bein'  fish,  and  ye  ought  to  put  'em  out  of  their  misery.  Fish  hes 
their  rights  as  well  as  any  on  us." 

Nobody  but  Sam  would  have  thought  of  poking  through  the 
high  grass  and  clover  on  our  back  lot  to  look  me  up,  as  I  lay  sob- 


30  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

bing  under  the  old  apple-tree,  the  most  insignificant  little  atom 
of  misery  that  ever  bewailed  the  inevitable. 

Sam  was  of  respectable  family,  and  not  destitute  of  education. 
He  was  an  expert  in  at  least  five  or  six  different  kinds  of  handi- 
craft, in  all  of  which  he  had  been  pronounced  by  the  knowing 
ones  to  be  a  capable  workman,  "  if  only  he  would  stick  to  it." 
He  had  a  blacksmith's  shop,  where,  when  the  fit  was  on  him,  he 
would  shoe  a  horse  better  than  any  man  in  the  county.  No  one 
could  supply  a  missing  screw,  or  apply  a  timely  brace,  with  more 
adroitness.  He  could  mend  cracked  china  so  as  to  be  almost  as 
good  as  new ;  he  could  use  carpenter's  tools  as  well  as  a  born 
carpenter,  and  would  doctor  a  rheumatic  door  or  a  shaky  window 
-better  than  half  the  professional  artisans  in  wood.  No  man 
could  put  a  refractory  clock  to  rights  with  more  ingenuity  than 
Sam,  —  that  is,  if  you  would  give  him  his  time  to  be  about  it. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  wrath  and  dismay  which  he  roused  in 
my  Aunt  Lois's  mind  by  the  leisurely  way  in  which,  after  having 
taken  our  own  venerable  kitchen  clock  to  pieces,  and  strewn  the 
fragments  all  over  the  kitchen,  he  would  roost  over  it  in  endless 
incubation,  telling  stories,  entering  into  long-winded  theological 
discussions,  smoking  pipes,  and  giving  histories  of  all  the  other 
clocks  in  Oldtown,  with  occasional  memoirs  of  those  in  Need- 
more,  the  North  Parish,  and  Podunk,  as  placidly  indifferent  to 
all  her  volleys  of  sarcasm  and  contempt,  her  stinging  expostula- 
tions and  philippics,  as  the  sailing  old  moon  is  to  the  frisky,  ani- 
mated barking  of  some  puppy  dog  of  earth. 

"  Why,  ye  see,  Miss  Lois,"  he  would  say,  "  clocks  can't  be 
druv ;  that 's  jest  what  they  can't.  Some  things  can  be  druv, 
and  then  agin  some  things  can't,  and  clocks  is  that  kind.  They 's 
jest  got  to  be  humored.  Now  this  'ere 's  a  'mazin'  good  clock  ; 
give  me  my  time  on  it,  and  I'll  have  it  so  'twill  keep  straight  on 
to  the  Millennium." 

"Millennium  !  "  says  Aunt  Lois,  with  a  snort  of  infinite  con- 
tempt. 

"  Yes,  the  Millennium,"  says  Sam,  letting  fall  his  work  in  a 
contemplative  manner.  "  That  'ere  's  an  interestin'  topic  now. 
Parson  Lothrop,  he  don't  think  the  Millennium  will  last  a  thou- 
sand years.  What 's  your  'pinion  on  that  pint,  Miss  Lois  ?  " 


THE  VILLAGE  DO-NOTHING.  31 

"  My  opinion  is,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  in  her  most  nipping  tones, 
"  that  if  folks  don't  mind  their  own  business,  and  do  with  their 
might  what  their  hand  finds  to  do,  the  Millennium  won't  come 
at  all." 

"Wai,  you  see,  Miss  Lois,  it  's  just  here,  —  one  day  is  with 
the  Lord  as  a  thousand  years,  and  a  thousand  years  as  one  day." 

"  I  should  think  you  thought  a  day  was  a  thousand  years,  the 
way  you  work,"  said  Aunt  Lois. 

"  Wai,"  says  Sam,  sitting  down  with  his  back  to  his  desperate 
litter  of  wheels,  weights,  and  pendulums,  and  meditatively  caress- 
ing his  knee  as  he  watched  the  sailing  clouds  in  abstract  medita- 
tion, "  ye  see,  ef  a  thing  's  ordained,  why  it 's  got  to  be,  ef  you 
don't  lift  a  finger.  That  'ere 's  so  now,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Sam  Lawson,  you  are  about  the  most  aggravating  creature  I 
ever  had  to  do  with.  Here  you  've  got  our  clock  all  to  pieces, 
and  have  been  keeping  up  a  perfect  hurrah's  nest  in  our  kitchen 
for  three  days,  and  there  you  sit  maundering  and  talking  with 
your  back  to  your  work,  fussin'  about  the  Millennium,  which 
is  none  of  your  business,  or  mine,  as  I  know  of !  Do  either  put 
that  clock  together  or  let  it  alone  !  " 

"Don't  you  be  a  grain  uneasy,  Miss  Lois.  Why,  I  '11  have 
your  clock  all  right  in  the  end,  but  I  can't  be  druv.  Wai,  I 
guess  I  '11  take  another  spell  on  't  to-morrow  or  Friday/' 

Poor  Aunt  Lois,  horror-stricken,  but  seeing  herself  actually 
in  the  hands  of  the  imperturbable  enemy,  now  essayed  the  tack 
of  conciliation.  "  Now  do,  Lawson,  just  finish  up  this  job,  and 
I  '11  pay  you  down,  right  on  the  spot ;  and  you  need  the  money." 

"  I  'd  like  to  'blige  ye,  Miss  Lois ;  but  ye  see  money  ain't 
everything  in  this  world.  Ef  I  work  tew  long  on  one  thing,  my 
mind  kind  o'  gives  out,  ye  see ;  and  besides,  I  've  got  some  'spon- 
sibilities  to  'tend  to.  There  's  Mrs.  Captain  Brown,  she  made 
me  promise  to  come  to-day  and  look  at  the  nose  o'  that  'ere  silver 
teapot  o'  hern  ;  it 's  kind  o'  sprung  a  leak.  And  then  I  'greed 
to  split  a  little  oven-wood  for  the  Widdah  Pedee,  that  lives  up 
on  the  Shelburn  road.  Must  visit  the  widdahs  in  their  affliction, 
Scriptur'  says.  And  then  there  's  Hepsy  :  she  's  allers  a  castin* 
it  up  at  me  that  I  don't  do  nothing  for  her  and  the  chil'en ;  but 


32  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

then,  lordy  massy,  Hepsy  hain't  no  sort  o'  patience.  Why  jest 
this  niornin'  I  was  a  tellin'  her  to  count  up  her  marcies,  and  I 
'clare  for  't  if  I  did  n't  think  she  'd  a  throwed  the  tongs  at  me. 
That  'ere  woman's  temper  railly  makes  rne  consarned.  Wai, 
good  day,  Miss  Lois.  I  '11  be  along  again  to-morrow  or  Friday, 
or  the  first  o'  next  week."  And  away  he  went  with  long,  loose 
strides  down  the  village  street,  while  the  leisurely  wail  of  an  old 
fuguing  tune  floated  back  after  him,  — 

"  Thy  years  are  an 
Etarnal  day, 
Thy  years  are  an 
Etarnal  day." 

"  An  eternal  torment,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  with  a  snap.  "  I  'm 
su-re,  if  there  's  a  mortal  creature  on  this  earth  that  I  pity,  it  'a 
Hepsy  Lawson.  Folks  talk  about  her  scolding,  —  that  Sam 
Lawson  is  enough  to  make  the  saints  in  Heaven  fall  from  grace. 
And  you  can't  do  anything  with  him :  it  's  like  charging  bayonet 
into  a  woolsack." 

Now,  the  Hepsy  thus  spoken  of  was  the  luckless  woman  whom 
Sam's  easy  temper,  and  a  certain  youthful  reputation  for  being  a 
capable  fellow,  had  led  years  before  into  the  snares  of  matrimony 
with  him,  in  consequence  of  which  she  was  encumbered  with  the 
bringing  up  of  six  children  on  very  short  rations.  She  was  a 
gnarly,  compact,  efficient  little  pepper-box  of  a  woman,  with  snap- 
ping black  eyes,  pale  cheeks,  and  a  mouth  always  at  half-cock, 
ready  to  go  off  with  some  sharp  crack  of  reproof  at  the  shoreless, 
bottomless,  and  tideless  inefficiency  of  her  husband.  It  seemed  to 
be  one  of  those  facts  of  existence  that  she  could  not  get  used  to, 
nor  find  anywhere  in  her  brisk,  fiery  little  body  a  grain  of  cool 
resignation  for.  Day  after  day  she  fought  it  with  as  bitter  and 
intense  a  vigor,  and  with  as  much  freshness  of  objurgation,  as  if  it 
had  come  upon  her  for  the  first  time,  — just  as  a  sharp,  wiry  little 
terrier  will  bark  and  bark  from  day  to  day,  with  never-ceasing 
pertinacity,  into  an  empty  squirrel-hole.  She  seemed  to  have 
no  power  within  her  to  receive  and  assimilate  the  great  truth 
that  her  husband  was  essentially,  and  was  to  be  and  always 
would  be,  only  a  do-nothing. 


THE   VILLAGE  DO-NOTHING.  33 

Poor  Hepsy  was  herself  quite  as  essentially  a  do-something,  — 
an  early-rising,  bustling,  driving,  neat,  efficient,  capable  little  body, 
—  who  contrived,  by  going  out  to  day's  works,  — washing,  scrub- 
bing, cleaning,  —  by  making  vests  for  the  tailor,  or  closing  and 
binding  shoes  for  the  shoemaker,  by  hoeing  corn  and  potatoes  in 
the  garden  at  most  unseasonable  hours,  actually  to  find  bread 
to  put  into  the  mouths  of  the  six  young  ravens  aforesaid,  and  to 
clothe  them  decently.  This  might  all  do  very  well ;  but  when 
Sam  —  who  believed  with  all  his  heart  in  the  modern  doctrines 
of  woman's  rights  so  far  as  to  have  no  sort  of  objection  to  Hepsy's 
sawing  wood  or  hoeing  potatoes  if  she  chose  —  would  make  the 
small  degree  of  decency  and  prosperity  the  family  had  attained  by 
these  means  a  text  on  which  to  preach  resignation,  cheerfulness, 
and  submission,  then  Hepsy's  last  cobweb  of  patience  gave  out, 
and  she  often  became,  for  the  moment,  really  dangerous,  so  that 
Sam  would  be  obliged  to  plunge  hastily  out  of  doors  to  avoid  a 
strictly  personal  encounter. 

It  was  not  to  be  denied  that  poor  Hepsy  really  was  a  scold,  in 
the  strong  old  Saxon  acceptation  of  the  word.  She  had  fought 
life  single-handed,  tooth  and  nail,  with  all  the  ferocity  of  outraged 
sensibilities,  and  had  come  out  of  the  fight  scratched  and  dishev- 
elled, with  few  womanly  graces.  The  good  wives  of  the  vil- 
lage, versed  in  the  outs  and  ins  of  their  neighbors'  affairs,  while 
they  admitted  that  Sam  was  not  all  he  should  be,  would  some- 
times roll  up  the  whites  of  their  eyes  mysteriously,  and  say,  "  But 
then,  poor  man,  what  could  you  expect  when  he  has  n't  a  happy 
home,  ?  Hepsy's  temper  is,  you  know,"  etc.,  etc. 

The  fact  is,  that  Sam's  softly  easy  temper  and  habits  of  mis- 
cellaneous handiness  caused  him  to  have  a  warm  corner  in  most 
of  the  households.  No  mothers  ever  are  very  hard  on  a  man 
who  always  pleases  the  children ;  and  every  one  knows  the 
welcome  of  a  universal  gossip,  who  carries  round  a  district  a 
wallet  of  choice  bits  of  neighborhood  information. 

Now  Sam  knew  everything  about  everybody.     He  could  tell 

Mrs.  Major  Broad  just  what  Lady  Lothrop  gave  for  her  best 

parlor  carpet,  that  was  brought  over  from  England,  and  just  on 

what  occasions  she  used  the  big  silver  tankard,  and  on  what  they 

2*  c 


34  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

were  content  with  the  little  one,  and  how  many  pairs  of  long 
silk  stockings  the  minister  had,  and  how  many  rows  of  stitching 
there  were  on  the  shoulders  of  his  Sunday  shirts.  He  knew  just 
all  that  was  in  Deacon  Badger's  best  room,  and  how  many  silver 
table-spoons  arid  teaspoons  graced  the  beaufet  in  the  corner ;  and 
when  each  of  his  daughters  was  born,  and  just  how  Miss  Susy 
came  to  marry  as  she  did,  and  who  wanted  to  marry  her  and 
could  n't.  He  knew  just  the  cost  of  Major  Broad's  scarlet  cloak 
and  shoe-buckles,  and  how  Mrs.  Major  had  a  real  Ingy  shawl  up 
in  her  "  camphire  "  trunk,  that  cost  nigh  as  much  as  Lady  Lo- 
tbrop's.  Nobody  had  made  love,  or  married,  or  had  children 
born,  or  been  buried,  since  Sam  was  able  to  perambulate  the 
country,  without  his  informing  himself  minutely  of  every  availa- 
ble particular;  and  his  unfathomable  knowledge  on  these  sub- 
jects was  an  unfailing  source  of  popularity. 

Besides  this,  Sam  was  endowed  with  no  end  of  idle  accom- 
plishments. His  indolence  was  precisely  of  a  turn  that  enjoyed 
the  excitement  of  an  occasional  odd  bit  of  work  with  which  he 
had  clearly  no  concern,  and  which  had  no  sort  of  tendency  to- 
ward his  own  support  or  that  of  his  family.  Something  so  far 
out  of  the  line  of  practical  utility  as  to  be  in  a  manner  an  artistic 
labor  would  awaken  all  the  energies  of  his  soul.  His  shop  was 
a  perfect  infirmary  for  decayed  articles  of  virtu  from  all  the 
houses  for  miles  around.  Cracked  china,  lame  tea-pots,  broken 
fhoe-buckles,  rickety  tongs,  and  decrepit  fire-irons,  all  stood  in 
melancholy  proximity,  awaiting  Sam's  happy  hours  of  inspiration ; 
and  he  was  always  happy  to  sit  down  and  have  .a  long,  strictly 
confidential  conversation  concerning  any  of  these  with  the  owner, 
especially  if  Hepsy  were  gone  out  washing,  or  on  any  other  work 
which  kept  her  at  a  safe  distance. 

Sam  could  shave  and  cut  hair  as  neatly  as  any  barber,  and  was 
always  in  demand  up  and  down  the  country  to  render  these 
offices  to  the  sick.  He  was  ready  to  go  for  miles  to  watch  with 
invalids,  and  a  very  acceptable  watcher  he  made,  beguiling  the 
night  hours  with  endless  stories  and  legends.  He  was  also  an 
expert  in  psalmody,  having  in  his  youth  been  the  pride  of  the 
village  singing-school.  In  those  days  he  could  perform  reputa- 


THE   VILLAGE  DO-NOTHING.  35 

bly  on  the  bass-viol  in  the  choir  of  a  Sunday  with  a  dolefulness 
and  solemnity  of  demeanor  in  the  highest  degree  edifying, — 
though  he  was  equally  ready  of  a  week-evening  in  scraping  on 
a  brisk  little  fiddle,  if  any  of  the  thoughtless  ones  wanted  a  per- 
former at  a  husking  or  a  quilting  frolic.  Sam's  obligingness  was 
many-sided,  and  he  was  equally  prepared  at  any  moment  to  raise 
a  funeral  psalm  or  whistle  the  time  of  a  double-shuffle. 

But  the  more  particular  delight  of  Sam's  heart  was  in  funerals. 
He  would  walk  miles  on  hearing  the  news  of  a  dangerous  illness, 
and  sit  roosting  on  the  fence  of  the  premises,  delighted  to  gossip 
over  the  particulars,  but  ready  to  come  down  at  any  moment  to 
do  any  of  the  odd  turns  which  sickness  in  a  family  makes  neces- 
sary ;.  and  when  the  last  earthly  scene  was  over,  Sam  was  more 
than  ready  to  render  those  final  offices  from  which  the  more  ner- 
vous and  fastidious  shrink,  but  in  which  he  took  almost  a  pro- 
fessional pride. 

The  business  of  an  undertaker  is  a  refinement  of  modern  civ- 
ilization. In  simple  old  days  neighbors  fell  into  one  another's 
hands  for  all  the  last  wants  of  our  poor  mortality ;  and  there 
were  men  and  women  of  note  who  took  a  particular  and  solemn 
pride  in  these  mournful  offices.  Sam  had  in  fact  been  up  all 
night  in  our  house,  and  having  set  me  up  in  the  clover,  and 
comforted  me  with  a  jack-knife,  he  proceeded  to  inform  me  of  the 
particulars. 

"  Why,  ye  see,  Horace,  I  ben  up  with  'em  pretty  much  all 
night ;  and  I  laid  yer  father  out  myself,  and  I  never  see  a  better- 
lookin'  corpse.  It 's  a  'rnazin'  pity  your  daddy  hed  such  feelin's 
'bout  havin'  people  come  to  look  at  him,  'cause  he  does  look 
beautiful,  and  it 's  been  a  long  time  since  we  Ve  hed  a  funeral,  any- 
way, and  everybody  was  expectin'  to  come  Jo  his  'n,  and  they  '11 
all  be  dissipinted  if  the  corpse  ain't  show'd ;  but  then,  lordy 
massy,  folks  ought  n't  to  think  hard  on 't  ef  folks  lies  their  own 
way  'bout  their  own  funeral.  That  'ere's  what  I  Ve  been  a  tellin' 
on  'em  all,  over  to  the  tavern  and  round  to  the  store.  Why,  you 
never  see  such  a  talk  as  there  was  about  it.  There  was  Aunt 
Sally  Morse,  and  Betsey  and  Patsy  Sawin,  and  Mis'  Zeruiah  Ba- 
con, come  over  early  to  look  at  the  corpse,  and  when  they  was  n't 


36  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

let  in,  you  never  heerd  sich  a  jawin'.  Betsey  and  Patsy  Sawin 
said  that  they  allers  suspected  your  father  was  an  infidel,  or 
some  sich,  and  now  they  was  clear ;  and  Aunt  Sally,  she  asked 
who  made  his  shroud,  and  when  she  heerd  there  was  n't  to  be 
none,  he  was  laid  out  in  his  clothes,  she  said  she  never  heerd  suet 
unchristian  doin's,  —  that  she  always  had  heerd  he  had  strange 
opinions,  but  she  never  thought  it  would  come  to  that." 

"  My  father  is  n't  an  infidel,  and  I  wish  I  could  kill  'em  for 
talking  so,"  said  I,  clenching  my  jack-knife  in  my  small  fist,  and 
feeling  myself  shake  with  passion. 

"  Wai,  wal,  I  kind  o'  spoke  up  to  'em  about  it.  I  was  n't 
a-goin'  to  hear  no  sich  jaw ;  and  says  I,  '  I  think  ef  there  is  any 
body  that  knows  what 's  what  about  funerals  I  'm  the  man,  fur  I 
don't  s'pose  there's  a  man  in  the  county  that's  laid  out  more 
folks,  and  set  up  with  more  corpses,  and  ben  sent  for  fur  and 
near,  than  I  have,  and  my  opinion  is  that  mourners  must  always 
follow  the  last  directions  gi'n  to  'em  by  the  person.  Ef  a  man 
has  n't  a  right  to  have  the  say  about  his  own  body,  what  hes  he 
a  right  to  ? '  Wal,  they  said  that  it  was  putty  well  of  me  to  talk 
so,  when  I  had  the  privilege  of  sittin'  up  with  him,  and  seein'  all 
that  was  to  be  seen.  '  Lordy  massy,'  says  I,  l  I  don't  see  why 
•ye  need  envi  me ;  't  ain't  my  fault  that  folks  thinks  it 's  agree- 
able to  have  me  round.  As  to  bein'  buried  in  his  clothes,  why, 
lordy  massy,  't  ain't  nothin'  so  extraordinary.  In  the  old  country 
great  folks  is  very  often  laid  out  in  their  clothes.  'Member, 
when  I  was  a  boy,  old  Mr.  Sanger,  the  minister  in  Deerbrook, 
was  laid  out  in  his  gown  and  bands,  with  a  Bible  in  his  hands, 
and  he  looked  as  nateral  as  a  pictur.  I  was  at  Parson  Rider's 
funeral,  down  to  Wrentham.  He  was  laid  out  in  white  flannel. 
But  then  there  was  old  Captain  Bigelow,  down  to  the  Pint 
there,  he  was  laid  out  regular  in  his  rigimentals,  jest  as  he  wore 
?em  in  the  war,  epaulets  and  all.'  Wal  now,  Horace,  your 
daddy  looks  jest  as  peaceful  as  a  psalm-tune.  Now,  you  don't 
know, — jest  as  nateral  as  if  he'd  only  jest  gone  to  sleep.  So 
ye  may  set  your  heart  at  rest  'bout  him." 

It  was  one  of  those  beautiful  serene  days  of  October,  when 
the  earth  lies  as  bright  and  still  as  anything  one  can  dream  of  in 


THE  VILLAGE   DO-NOTHING.  37 

the  New  Jerusalem,  and  Sam's  homely  expressions  of  sympathy 
had  quieted  me  somewhat.  Sam,  tired  of  his  discourse,  lay  back 
in  the  clover,  with  his  hands  under  his  head,  and  went  on  with 
his  moralizing. 

"  Lordy  massy,  Horace,  to  think  on  't,  —  it 's  so  kind  o'  sol- 
emnizin'!  It's  one's  turn  to-day,  and  another's  to-morrow.  We 
never  know  when  our  turn  '11  come."  And  Sam  raised  a  favorite 

stave,  — 

"  And  must  these  active  limbs  of  mine 
Lie  moulderin'  in  the  clay?  " 

"  Active  limbs !  I  guess  so ! "  said  a  sharp  voice,  which  came 
through  the  clover-heads  like  the  crack  of  a  rifle.  "  Well,  I  've 
found  you  at  last.  Here  you  be,  Sam  Lawson,  lyin'  flat  on 
your  back  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  not  a  potato 
dug,  and  not  a  stick  of  wood  cut  to  get  dinner  with ;  and  I  won't 
cut  no  more  if  we  never  have  dinner.  It 's  no  use  a  humorin' 
you,  —  doin'  your  work  for  you.  The  more  I  do,  the  more  I 
may  do  ;  so  come  home,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Lordy  massy,  Hepsy,"  said  Sam,  slowly  erecting  himself  out 
of  the  grass,  and  staring  at  her  with  white  eyes,  "you  don't 
ought  to  talk  so.  I  ain't  to  blame.  I  bed  to  sit  up  with  Mr. 
Holyoke  all  night,  and  help  'em  lay  him  out  at  four  o'clock  this 
niornin'." 

"You're  always  everywhere  but  where  you've  business  to 
be,"  said  Hepsy ;  "  and  helpin'  and  doin'  for  everybody  but  your 
own.  For  my  part,  I  think  charity  ought  to  begin  at  home. 
You  're  everywhere,  up  and  down  and  round,  —  over  to  Shel- 
bun,  down  to  Podunk,  up  to  North  Parish;  and  here  Abram 
and  Kiah  Stebbins  have  been  waitin'  all  the  morning  with  a  horse 
they  brought  all  the  way  from  Boston  to  get  you  to  shoe." 

'•  Wai  now,  that  'ere  shows  they  know  what 's  what.  I  told 
Kiah  that  ef  they  'd  bring  that  'ere  hoss  to  me  I  'd  'tend  to  his 
huffs." 

"  And  be  off  lying  in  the  mowing,  like  a  patridge,  when  they 
come  after  ye.     That 's  one  way  to  do  business,"  said  Hepsy. 
i     "  Hepsy,  I  was  just  a  miditatin'.     Ef  we  don't  miditate  some- 
times on  all  these  'ere  things,  it  '11  be  wus  for  us  by  and  by." 


38  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  Meditate  !  I  '11  help  your  meditations  in  a  way  you  won't 
like,  if  you  don't  look  out.  So  now  you  come  home,  and  stop 
your  meditatin',  and  go  to  doin'  somethin'.  I  told  'em  to  come 
back  this  afternoon,  and  I  'd  have  you  on  the  spot  if  't  was  a  pos- 
sible thing,"  said  the  very  practical  Hepsy,  laying  firm  hold  of 
Sam's  unresisting  arm,  and  leading  him  away  captive. 

I  stole  into  the  darkened,  silent  room  where  my  father  had 
lain  so  long.  Its  desolate  neatness  struck  a  chill  to  my  heart. 
Not  even  a  bottle  remained  of  the  many  familiar  ones  that  used  to 
cover  the  stand  and  the  mantel-piece ;  but  he,  lying  in  his  thread- 
bare Sunday  coat,  looked  to  me  as  I  had  often  seen  him  in  later 
days,  when  be  had  come  from  school  exhausted,  and  fallen  asleep 
on  the  bed.  I  crept  to  his  side  and  nestled  down  on  the  floor 
as  quietly  as  a  dog  lies  down  by  the  side  of  his  master. 


THE  OLD  MEETING-HOUSE.  39 

CHAPTER    V. 

THE    OLD    MEETING-HOUSE. 

THE  next  day  was  the  funeral,  and  I  have  little  remembrance 
in  it  of  anything  but  what  was  dreary.  Our  Puritan  ances- 
tors, in  the  decision  of  their  reaction  from  a  dead  formalism,  had 
swept  away  from  the  solemn  crises  of  life  every  symbolic  ex- 
pression ;  and  this  severe  bareness  and  rigid  restriction  were 
nowhere  more  striking  than  in  funeral  services,  as  conducted  in 
these  early  times  in  Massachusetts. 

There  was  at  the  house  of  mourning  simply  a  prayer,  nothing 
more ;  and  then  the  procession  of  relatives,  friends,  and  towns- 
people walked  silently  to  the  grave,  where,  without  text,  prayer, 
or  hymn,  the  dust  was  forever  given  to  its  fellow-dust.  The 
heavy  thud  of  the  clods  on  the  coffin,  the  rattling  of  spades,  and 
the  fall  of  the  earth,  were  the  only  voices  that  spoke  in  that  final 
scene.  Yet  that  austere  stillness  was  not  without  its  majesty, 
since  it  might  be  interpreted,  not  as  the  silence  of  indifference, 
but  as  the  stillness  of  those  whose  thoughts  are  too  mighty  for 
words.  It  was  the  silence  of  the  unutterable.  From  the  grave 
my  mother  and  her  two  boys  were  conducted  to  my  grandfathers 
house,  —  the  asylum  ever  ready  for  the  widowed  daughter. 

The  next  day  after  was  Sunday,  and  a  Sunday  full  of  impor- 
tance in  the  view  of  Aunt  Lois,  Aunt  Keziah,  and,  in  fact,  of 
every  one  in  the  family.  It  was  the  custom,  on  the  first  Sabbath 
after  a  bereavement,  for  the  whole  family  circle  to  be  present  to- 
gether in  church,  to  request,  in  a  formal  note,  the  prayers  of  the 
congregation  that  the  recent  death  might  be  sanctified  to  them. 
It  was  a  point  of  honor  for  all  family  connections  to  be  present 
at  this  service,  even  though  they  should  not  attend  the  funeral ; 
and  my  Uncle  Bill,  a  young  Sophomore  in  Cambridge  College, 
had  come  down  duly  to  be  with  us  on  the  occasion.  He  was  a 
joyous,  spirited,  jolly,  rollicking  young  fellow,  not  in  the  slightest 


40  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

degree  given  to  funereal  reflections,  and  his  presence  in  the 
house  always  brought  a  certain  busy  cheerfulness  which  I  felt  to 
lighten  my  darkness. 

One  thing  certainly  had  a  tendency  in  that  direction,  which 
was  that  Aunt  Lois  was  always  perceptibly  ameliorated  by  Uncle 
Bill's  presence.  Her  sharp,  spare  features  wore  a  relaxed  and 
smiling  aspect,  her  eyes  had  a  softer  light,  and  she  belied  her  own 
frequent  disclaimer,  that  she  never  had  any  beauty,  by  looking 
almost  handsome. 

Poor  Aunt  Lois  !  I  am  afraid  my  reader  will  not  do  justice 
to  her  worth  by  the  specimens  of  her  ways  and  words  which  I 
have  given.  Any  one  that  has  ever  pricked  his  fingers  in 
trying  to  force  open  a  chestnut-burr  may  perhaps  have  moral- 
ized at  the  satin  lining,  so  smooth  and  soft,  that  lies  inside  of 
that  sharpness.  It  is  an  emblem  of  a  kind  of  nature  very  fre- 
quent in  New  England,  where  the  best  and  kindest  and  most 
desirable  of  traits  are  .enveloped  in  an  outside  wrapping  of  sharp 
austerity. 

No  person  rendered  more  deeds  of  kindness  in  the  family  and 
neighborhood  than  Aunt  Lois.  She  indeed  bore  the  cares  of  the 
whole  family  on  her  heart ;  she  watched  and  prayed  and  fretted 
and  scolded  for  all.  Had  she  cared  less,  she  might  perhaps  have 
appeared  more  amiable.  She  invested  herself,  so  to  speak,  in 
others ;  and  it  was  vital  to  her  happiness,  not  only  that  they 
should  be  happy,  but  that  they  should  be  happy  precisely  on  her 
pattern  and  in  her  way.  She  had  drawn  out  the  whole  family 
chart,  and  if  she  had  only  had  power  to  make  each  one  walk 
tractably  in  the  path  she  foreordained,  her  sharp,  thin  face  might 
have  had  a  few  less  wrinkles.  It  seemed  to  her  so  perfectly 
evident  that  the  ways  she  fixed  upon  for  each  one  were  ways  of 
pleasantness  and  paths  of  peace,  that  she  scarcely  could  have 
patience  with  Providence  for  allowing  things  to  fall  out  in  a  way 
so  entirely  different  from  her  designs. 

Aunt  Lois  was  a  good  Christian,  but  she  made  that  particular 
mistake  in  repeating  the  Lord's  Prayer  which  so  many  of  us  quite 
unconsciously  do,  —  she  always  said,  My  will  be  done,  instead  of 
Thy  will.  Not  in  so  many  words,  of  course,  —  it  was  the  secret 


THE   OLD  MEETING-HOUSE.  41 

inner  voice  of  her  essential  nature  that  spoke  and  said  one  thing, 
while  her  tongue  said  another.  But  then  who  can  be  sure  enough 
of  himself  in  this  matter,  to  cast  the  first  stone  at  Aunt  Lois  ? 

It  was  the  fashion  of  the  Calvinistic  preaching  of  that  time  to 
put  the  doctrine  of  absolute  and  unconditional  submission  to  God 
in  the  most  appalling  forms,  and  to  exercise  the  conscience  with 
most  severe  supposititious  tests.  After  many  struggles  and  real 
agonies,  Aunt  Lois  had  brought  herself  to  believe  that  she  would 
be  willing  to  resign  her  eternal  salvation  to  the  Divine  glory; 
that  she  could  consent  to  the  eternal  perdition  of  those  on  whom 
her  heart  was  most  particularly  set,  were  it  God's  will ;  and  thus 
her  self-will,  as  she  supposed,  had  been  entirely  annihilated, 
whereas  it  was  only  doubled  back  on  itself,  and  ready  to  come 
out  with  tenfold  intensity  in  the  unsuspected  little  things  of  this 
life,  where  she  looked  less  at  Divine  agency  than  human  instru- 
mentality. No  law,  as  she  supposed,  required  her  to  submit  to 
people's  acting  foolishly  in  their  worldly  matters,  particularly 
when  she  was  able  and  willing  to  show  them  precisely  how  they 
ought  to  act. 

Failing  of  a  prosperous  marriage  for  my  mother,  Aunt  Lois's 
heart  was  next  set  upon  a  college  education  for  my  Uncle  Bill, 
the  youngest  and  brightest  of  the  family.  For  this  she  toiled 
and  economized  in  family  labor,  and  eked  it  out  by  vest-making 
at  the  tailor's,  and  by  shoe-binding  at  the  shoemaker's,  —  all  that 
she  might  have  something  to  give  to  Bill  for  spending-money,  to 
keep  up  his  standing  respectably  in  college.  Her  antagonistic 
attitude  toward  my  brother  and  myself  proceeded  less  from  hard- 
ness of  heart  than  from  an  anxious,  worrying  fear  that  we  should 
trench  on  the  funds  that  at  present  were  so  heavily  taxed  to 
bring  Uncle  Bill  through  college.  Especially  did  she  fear  that 
my  father  had  left  me  the  legacy  of  his  own  ungratified  desire 
for  an  education,  and  that  my  grandmother's  indulgence  and 
bountifulness  might  lead  her  to  encourage  me  ^n  some  such  ex- 
pectations, and  then  where  was  the  money  to  come  from  ?  Aunt 
Lois  foresaw  contingencies  afar  off.  Not  content  with  the  cares 
of  the  present  day  and  hour,  she  dived  far  into  the  future,  a'nd 
carried  all  sorts  of  imaginary  loads  that  would  come  in  supposi- 


42  OLDTOWN  FOLKS, 

titious  cases.  As  the  Christian  by  the  eye  of  faith  sees  all  sorts 
of  possible  good  along  the  path  of  future  duty,  so  she  by  the  eye 
of  cautiousness  saw  every  possible  future  evil  that  could  arise 
in  every  supposable  contingency.  Aunt  Lois's  friends  often  had 
particular  reason  to  wish  that  she  cared  less  for  them,  for  then, 
perhaps,  she  might  give  them  some  peace.  But  nothing  is  so 
hopeless  as  your  worthy  domestic  house-dog,  every  hair  of  whose 
fur  bristles  with  watchfulness,  and  who  barks  at  you  incessantly 
from  behind  a  most  terrible  intrenchment  of  faithful  labors  and 
loving-kindnesses  heaped  up  on  your  behalf. 

These  dear  good  souls  who  wear  their  life  out  for  you,  have 
they  not  a  right  to  scold  you,  and  dictate  to  you,  and  tie  up  your 
liberty,  and  make  your  life  a  burden  to  you  ?  If  they  have  not, 
who  has  ?  If  you  complain,  you  break  their  worthy  old  hearts. 
They  insist  on  the  privilege  of  seeking  your  happiness  by  thwart- 
ing you  in  everything  you  want  to  do,  and  putting  their  will  in- 
stead of  yours  in  every  step  of  your  life. 

Between  Aunt  Lois  and  my  father  there  had  been  that  con- 
stant antagonism  which  is  often  perceptible  between  two  human 
beings,  each  good  enough  in  himself,  but  of  a  quality  to  act  de- 
structively upon  the  other.  A  satin  vest  and  a  nutmeg-grater 
are  both  perfectly  harmless,  and  even  worthy  existences,  but 
their  close  proximity  on  a  jolting  journey  is  not  to  be  recom- 
mended. 

My  father  never  could  bear  my  Aunt  Lois  in  his  house  ;  and 
her  presence  had  such  an  instant  effect  in  developing  all  the 
combative  element  in  him,  that  really  the  poor  woman  never  saw 
him  long  enough  under  an  agreeable  aspect  to  enable  her  even 
to  understand  why  my  mother  should  regard  him  with  affection ; 
and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  therefore,  that  she  was  not  a  deep 
mourner  at  his  death.  She  regarded  her  sister's  love  for  my 
father  as  an  unfortunate  infatuation,  ac.d  was  more  satisfied  with 
the  ways  of  Providence  than  she  usually  was,  when  its  object 
was  withdrawn. 

It  was  according  to  all  the  laws  of  moral  gravitation  that,  as 
soon  as  my  father  died,  my  mother  became  an  obedient  satellite 
in  Aunt  Lois's  orbit.  She  was  one  of  those  dear,  helpless  little 


THE  OLD  MEETING-HOUSE.  43 

women,  who,  like  flowers  by  the  wayside,  seem  to  be  at  the  dis- 
posal of  the  first  strong  hand  that  wants  to  gather  them.  She  was 
made  to  be  ruled  over ;  and  so  we  all  felt  this  first  Sunday  morn- 
in»  that  we  had  come  home  to  be  under  the  dominion  of  Aunt 

O 

Lois.  She  put  on  my  mother's  mourning-bonnet  and  tied  it 
under  her  meek,  unresisting  chin,  turning  her  round  and  round 
to  get  views  of  her  from  different  points,  and  arranging  her  rib- 
bons and  veil  and  pins  as  if  she  had  been  a  lay  figure  going  to  ex- 
hibition ;  and  then  she  tied  our  collars,  and  gave  a  final  twitch  to 
our  jackets,  and  warned  us  not  to  pull  out  the  pins  from  the  crape 
bands  on  our  new  hats,  nor  to  talk  and  look  round  in  meeting, 
strengthening  the  caution  with,  "  Just  so  sure  as  you  do,  there 's 
Mr.  Israel  Scran,  the  tithing-man,  will  come  and  ta,ke  you  and 
set  you  on  the  pulpit  stairs." 

Now  Mr.  Israel  Scran  on  week-days  was  a  rather  jolly,  sec- 
ular-looking individual,  who  sat  on  the  top  of  a  barrel  in  his 
store,  and  told  good  stories ;  but  Israel  Scran  on  Sundays  was  a 
tithing-man,  whose  eyes  were  supposed  to  be  as  a  flame  of  fire 
to  search  out  little  boys  that  played  in  meeting,  and  bring  them 
to  awful  retribution.  And  I  must  say  that  I  shook  in  my  shoes 
at  the  very  idea  of  his  entering  into  judgment  with  me  for  any 
misdemeanor. 

Going  to  church  on  the  present  occasion  was  rather  a  severe 
and  awful  ceremony  to  my  childish  mind,  second  only  to  the 
dreary  horror  of  the  time  when  we  stood  so  dreadfully  still 
around  the  grave,  and  heard  those  heavy  clods  thud  upon  the 
coffin.  I  ventured  a  timid  inquiry  of  my  mother  as  to  what 
was  going  to  be  done  there. 

Aunt  Lois  took  the  word  out  of  her  mouth.  "  Now,  Horace, 
hush  your  talk,  and  don't  worry  your  mother.  She  's  going  to  put 
up  a  note  to  be  prayed  for  to-day,  and  we  are  all  going  to  join ;  so 
you  be  a  good  boy,  and  don't  talk." 

Being  good  was  so  frequently  in  those  days  represented  to  me 
as  synonymous  with  keeping  silence,  that  I  screwed  my  little 
mouth  up  firmly  as  I  walked  along  to  the  meeting-house,  behind 
my  mother,  holding  my  brother  Bill's  hand,  and  spoke  not  a 
word,  though  he  made  several  overtures  towards  conversation  by 


44  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

informing  me  that  he  saw  a  chipmunk,  and  that  if  it  was  only 
Monday  he  'd  hit  him  smack  ;  and  also  telling  me  that  Sam  Law- 
son  had  promised  to  go  pout-fishing  with  us  on  Tuesday,  with 
other  boy  temporalities  of  a  nature  equally  worldly. 

The  meeting-house  to  which  our  steps  were  tending  was  one 
of  those  huge,  shapeless,  barn-like  structures,  which  our  fathers 
erected  apparently  as  a  part  of  that  well-arranged  system  by 
which  they  avoided  all  resemblance  to  those  fair,  poetic  ecclesias- 
tical forms  of  the  Old  World,  which  seemed  in  their  view  as  "  gar- 
ments spotted  by  the  flesh." 

The  interior  of  it  was  revealed  by  the  light  of  two  staring  rows 
of  windows,  which  let  in  the  glare  of  the  summer  sun,  and  which 
were  so  loosely  framed,  that,  in  wintry  and  windy  weather,  they 
rattled  and  shook,  and  poured  in  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  cold  air, 
which  disported  itself  over  the  shivering  audience. 

It  was  a  part  of  the  theory  of  the  times  never  to  warm  these 
buildings  by  a  fire  ;  and  the  legend  runs  that  once  in  our  meet- 
ing-house the  communion  was  administered  under  a  tempera- 
ture which  actually  froze  the  sacred  elements  while  they  were 
being  distributed.  Many  a  remembrance  of  winter  sessions  in 
that  old  meeting-house  rose  to  my  mind,  in  which  I  sat  with  my 
poor  dangling  feet  perfectly  numb  and  paralyzed  with  cold,  and 
blew  my  finger-ends  to  keep  a  little  warmth  in  them,  and  yet  I 
never  thought  of  complaining  ;  for  everybody  was  there,  —  mother, 
aunts,  grandmother,  and  all  the  town.  We  all  sat  and  took  our 
hardships  in  common,  as  a  plain,  necessary  fact  of  existence. 

Going  to  meeting,  in  that  state  of  society  into  which  I  was 
born,  was  as  necessary  and  inevitable  a  consequence  of  waking  up 
on  Sunday  morning  as  eating  one's  breakfast.  Nobody  thought 
of  staying  away,  —  and,  for  that  matter,  nobpdy  wanted  to  stay 
away.  Our  weekly  life  was  simple,  monotonous,  and  laborious ; 
and  the  chance  of  seeing  the  whole  neighborhood  together  in 
their  best  clothes  on  Sunday  was  a  thing  which,  in  the  dearth  of 
all  other  sources  of  amusement,  appealed  to  the  idlest  and  most 
unspiritual  of  loafers.  They  who  did  not  care  for  the  sermon  or 
the  prayers  wanted  to  see  Major  Broad's  scarlet  coat  and  laced 
ruffles,  and  his  wife's  brocade  dress,  and  the  new  bonnet  which 


THE   OLD   MEETING-HOUSE.  45 

Lady  Lothrop  had  just  had  sent  up  from  Boston.  "Whoever  had 
not  seen  these  would  be  out  of  society  for  a  week  to  come,  and 
not  be  able  to  converse  understandingly  on  the  topics  of  the 
day. 

The  meeting  on  Sunday  united  in  those  days,  as  nearly  as  pos- 
sible, the  whole  population  of  a  town,  —  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren. There  was  then  in  a  village  but  one  fold  and  one  shep- 
herd, and  long  habit  had  made  the  tendency  to  this  one  central 
point  so  much  a  necessity  to  every  one,  that  to  stay  away  from 
"  meetin'  "  for  any  reason  whatever  was  always  a  secret  source 
of  uneasiness.  I  remember  in  my  early  days,  sometimes  when  I 
had  been  left  at  home  by  reason  of  some  of  the  transient  ailments 
of  childhood,  how  ghostly  and  supernatural  the  stillness  of  the 
whole  house  and  village  outside  the  meeting-house  used  to  appear 
to  me,  how  loudly  the  clock  ticked  and  the  flies  buzzed  down  the 
window-pane,  and  how  I  listened  in  the  breathless  stillness  to 
the  distant  psalm-singing,  the  solemn  tones  of  the  long  prayer, 
and  then  to  the  monotone  of  the  sermon,  and  then  again  to  the 
closing  echoes  of  the  last  hymn,  and  thought  sadly,  what  if  some 
day  I  should  be  left  out,  when  all  my  relations  and  friends  had 
gone  to  meeting  in  the  New  Jerusalem,  and  hear  afar  the  music 
from  the  crystal  walls. 

As  our  Sunday  gathering  at  meeting  was  a  complete  picture 
of  the  population  of  our  village,  I  shall,  as  near  as  possible, 
daguerreotype  our  Sunday  audience,  as  the  best  means  of  placing 
my  readers  in  sympathy  with  the  scene  and  actors  of  this  history. 

The  arrangement  of  our  house  of  worship  in  Oldtown  was 
somewhat  peculiar,  owing  to  the  fact  of  its  having  originally  been 
built  as  a  mission  church  for  the  Indians.  The  central  portion 
of  the  house,  usually  appropriated  to  the  best  pews,  was  in  ours 
devoted  to  ,them ;  and  here  were  arranged  benches  of  the  sim- 
plest and  most  primitive  form,  on  which  were  collected  every 
Sunday  the  thin  and  wasted  remnants  of  what  once  was  a  nu- 
merous and  powerful  tribe.  There  were  four  or  five  respectable 
Indian  families,  who  owned  comfortable  farms  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  came  to  meeting  in  their  farm-wagons,  like  any  of  their 
white  neighbors. 


46  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Conspicuous  among  these,  on  the  front  bench,  facing  the  pulpit, 
sat  the  Indian  head-magistrate,  Justice  Waban, —  tall  and  erect 
as  an  old  pine-tree,  and  of  a  grave  and  reverend  aspect.  Next 
to  him  was  seated  the  ecclesiastical  superior  of  that  portion  of  the 
congregation,  Deacon  Ephraim.  Mild,  intelligent,  and  devout,  he 
was  the  perfect  model  of  the  praying  Indian  formed  in  the  apos- 
tolic traditions  of  the  good  Eliot.  By  his  side  sat  his  wife,  Ke- 
turah,  who,  though  she  had  received  Christian  baptism,  still  re- 
tained in  most  respects  the  wild  instincts  and  untamed  passions 
of  the  savage.  Though  she  attended  church  and  allowed  her 
children  to  be  baptized,  yet,  in  spite  of  minister,  elder,  and  tithing- 
man,  she  obstinately  held  on  to  the  practice  of  many  of  her  old 
heathen  superstitions. 

Old  Keturah  was  one  of  the  wonders  of  my  childhood.  She 
was  spoken  of  among  the  gossips  with  a  degree  of  awe,  as  one 
who  possessed  more  knowledge  than  was  good  for  her  j  and  in 
thunder-storms  and  other  convulsions  of  nature  she  would  sit  in 
her  chimney-corner  and  chant  her  old  Indian  incantations,  to  my 
mingled  terror  and  delight.  I  remember  distinctly  three  sylla- 
bles that  occurred  very  often,  —  "  ah-mah-ga,  ah-mah-ga," —  some- 
times pronounced  in  wild,  plaintive  tones,  and  sometimes  in  tones 
of  menace  and  denunciation.  In  fact,  a  century  before,  Keturah 
must  have  had  a  hard  time  of  it  with  her  Christian  neighbors ; 
but  our  minister  was  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar,  and  only  smiled 
benignly  when  certain  elderly  ladies  brought  him  terrible  stories 
of  Keturah's  proceedings. 

Next  to  Keturah  was  seated  Deborah  Kummacher,  an  Indian 
woman,  who  had  wisely  forsaken  the  unprofitable  gods  of  the  wild 
forest,  and  taken  to  the  Christian  occupation  of  fruit-growing, 
and  kept  in  nice  order  a  fruit  farm  near  my  grandfather's,  where 
we  children  delighted  to  resort  in  the  season,  receiving  from  her 
presents  of  cherries,  pears,  peaches,  or  sweet  apples,  which  she 
informed  us  she  was  always  ready  to  give  to  good  children  who 
baid  their  prayers  and  made  their  manners  when  they  came  into 
her  house.  Next  behind  her  tame  Betty  Poganut,  Patty  Pe- 
gan,  and  old  Sarah  Wonsamug, — hard-visaged,  high-cheek-boned 
females,  with  snaky-black  eyes,  principally  remarkable,  in  my 


THE  OLD  MEETING-HOUSE.  47 

mind,  for  the  quantity  of  cider  they  could  drink.  I  had  special 
reason  to  remember  this,  as  my  grandmother's  house  was  their 
favorite  resort,  and  drawing  cider  was  always  the  work  of  the 
youngest  boy. 

Then  there  was  Lem  Sudock,  a  great,  coarse,  heavy-moulded 
Indian,  with  gigantic  limbs  and  a  savage  'iace,  but  much  in  re- 
quest for  laying  stone  walls,  digging  wells,  and  other  tasks  for 
which  mere  physical  strength  was  the  chief  requisite.  Beside 
him  was  Dick  Obscue,  a  dull,  leering,  lazy,  drinking  old  fellow, 
always  as  dry  as  an  empty  sponge,  but  with  an  endless  capacity 
for  imbibing.  Dick  was  of  a  class  which  our  modern  civilization 
would  never  see  inside  of  a  church,  though  he  was  in  his  seat  in 
our  meeting-house  as  regularly  as  any  of  the  deacons;  but  on 
week-days  his  principal  employment  seemed  to  be  to  perambulate 
the  country,  making  stations  of  all  the  kitchen  firesides,  where 
he  would  tell  stories,  drink  cider,  and  moralize,  till  the  patience 
or  cider-pitchers  of  his  hosts  ran  dry,  when  he  would  rise  up 
slowly,  adjust  his  old  straw  hat,  hitch  up  his  dangling  nether  gar- 
ments a  little  tighter,  and,  with  a  patronizing  nod,  say,  "  Wai, 
naow,  'f  you  can  spare  me  I  '11  go." 

Besides  our  Indian  population,  we  had  also  a  few  negroes,  and 
a  side  gallery  was  appropriated  to  them.  Prominent  there  was 
the  stately  form  of  old  Boston  Foodah,  an  African  prince,  who 
had  been  stolen  from  the  coast  of  Guinea  in  early  youth,  and 
sold  in  Boston  at  some  period  of  antiquity  whereto  the  memory 
of  man  runneth  not.  All  the  Oldtown  people,  and  their  fathers 
and  grandfathers,  remembered  old  Boston  just  as  he  then  ex- 
isted, neither  older  nor  younger.  He  was  of  a  majestic  stature, 
slender  and  proudly  erect,  and  perfectly  graceful  in  every  move- 
ment, his  woolly  hair  as  white  as  the  driven  snow.  He  was 
servant  to  General  Hull  in  the  Revolutionary  war,  and  at  its 
close  was  presented  by  his  master  with  a  full  suit  of  his  military 
equipments,  including  three-cornered  hat,  with  plume,  epaulets, 
and  sword.  Three  times  a  year,  —  at  the  spring  training, 
the  fall  muster,  and  on  Thanksgiving  day, —  Boston  arrayed 
himself  in  full  panoply,  and  walked  forth  a  really  striking  and 
magnificent  object.  In  the  eyes  of  us  boys,  on  these  days,  he 


48  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

was  a  hero,  and  he  patronized  us  with  a  condescension  which 
went  to  our  hearts.  His  wife,  Jinny,  was  a  fat,  roly-poly  little 
body,  delighting  in  red  and  yellow  bonnets,  who  duly  mustered 
into  meeting  a  troop  of  black-eyed,  fat,  woolly-headed  little 
negroes,  whom  she  cuffed  and  disciplined  during  sermon-time 
with  a  matronly  ferocity  designed  to  show  white  folks  that  she 
was  in  earnest  in  their  religious  training. 

Near  by  was  old  Primus  King,  a  gigantic,  retired  whaleman, 
black  as  a  coal,  with  enormous  hands  and  feet,  universally  in  de- 
mand in  all  the  region  about  as  assistant  in  butchering  opera- 
tions. 

Besides  these,  let  me  not  forget  dear,  jolly  old  Caesar,  my 
grandfather's  own  negro,  the  most  joyous  creature  on  two  feet. 
What  could  not  Caesar  do  ?  He  could  gobble  like  a  turkey  so 
perfectly  as  to  deceive  the  most  experienced  old  gobbler  on  the 
farm ;  he  could  crow  so  like  a  cock  that  all  the  cocks  in  the 
neighborhood  would  reply  to  him ;  he  could  mew  like  a  eat,  and 
bark  like  a  dog ;  he  could  sing  and  fiddle,  and  dance  the  double- 
shuffle,  and  was  aufait  in  all  manner  of  jigs  and  hornpipes  ;  and 
one  need  not  wonder,  therefore,  that  old  Caesar  was  hugged  and 
caressed  and  lauded  by  me  in  my  childhood  as  the  most  wonder- 
ful of  men. 

There  were  several  other  colored  families,  of  less  repute,  who 
also  found  seats  in  the  negro  gallery.  One  of  them  was  that  of 
Aunt  Nancy  Prime,  famous  for  making  election-cake  and  ginger- 
pop,  and  who  was  sent  for  at  all  the  great  houses  on  occasions  of 
high  festivity,  as  learned  in  all  mysteries  relating  to  the  confection 
of  cakes  and  pies.  A  tight,  trig,  bustling  body  she,  black  and  pol- 
ished as  ebony,  smooth-spoken  and  respectful,  and  quite  a  favor- 
ite with  everybody.  Nancy  had  treated  herself  to  an  expensive 
luxury  in  the  shape  of  a  husband,  —  an  idle,  worthless  mulatto 
man,  who  was  owned  as  a  slave  in  Boston.  Nancy  bought  him 
by  intense  labors  in  spinning  flax,  but  found  him  an  undesirable 
acquisition,  and  was*  often  heard  to  declare,  in  the  bitterness  of 
her  soul,  when  he  returned  from  his  drinking  bouts,  that  she 
should  never  buy  another  nigger,  she  knew. 

The  only  thing  she  gained  by  this  matrimonial  speculation  was 


THE   OLD   MEETING-HOUSE.  49 

an  abundant  crop  of  noisy  children,  who,  as  she  often  declared, 
nearly  wore  the  life  out  of  her.  I  remember  once,  when  I  was 
on  a  visit  to  her  cottage,  while  I  sat  regaling  myself  with  a  slice 
of  cake,  Nancy  lifted  the  trap-door  which  went  down  into  the 
cellar  below.  Forthwith  the  whole  skirmishing  tribe  of  little 
darkies,  who  had  been  rolling  about  the  floor,  seemed  suddenly  to 
unite  in  one  coil,  and,  with  a  final  flop,  disappeared  in  the  hole. 
Nancy  gave  a  kick  to  the  door,  and  down  it  went ;  when  she 
exclaimed,  with  a  sigh  of  exhausted  patience,  "  Well,  now  then, 
I  hope  you  '11  be  still  a  minute,  anyway  ! " 

The  houses  of  the  colored  people  formed  a  little  settlement  by 
themselves  in  the  north  part  of  the  village,  where  they  lived  on 
most  amicable  terms  with  all  the  inhabitants. 

In  the  front  gallery  of  the  meeting-house,  opposite  the  pulpit, 
was  seated  the  choir  of  the  church.  The  leader  of  our  music 
was  old  Mump  Morse,  a  giant  of  a  man,  in  form  not  unlike  a 
cider-hogshead,  with  a  great  round  yellow  head,  and  a  voice  like 
the  rush  of  mighty  winds,  who  was  wont  to  boast  that  he  could 
chord  with  thunder  and  lightning  better  than  any  man  in  the 
parish.  Next  to  him  came  our  friend  Sam  Lawson,  whose  dis- 
tinguishing peculiarity  it  was,  that  he  could  strike  into  any  part 
where  his  voice  seemed  most  needed ;  and  he  often  showed  the 
miscellaneous  nature  of  his  accomplishments  by  appearing  as 
tenor,  treble,  or  counter,  successively,  during  the  rendering  of 
one  psalm.  If  we  consider  that  he  also  pitched  the  tunes  with 
his  pitch-pipe,  and  played  on  his  bass-viol,  we  shall  see  increas- 
ing evidence  of  that  versatility  of  genius  for  which  he  was  distin- 
guished. 

Another  principal  bass-singer  was  old  Joe  Stedman,  who  as- 
serted his  democratic  right  to  do  just  as  he  had  a  mind  to  by 
always  appearing  every  Sunday  in  a  clean  leather  apron  of  pre- 
cisely the  form  he  wore  about  his  weekly  work.  Of  course  all 
the  well-conducted  upper  classes  were  scandalized,  and  Joe  was 
privately  admonished  of  the  impropriety,  which  greatly  increased 
his  satisfaction,  and  caused  him  to  regard  himself  as  a  person  of 
vast  importance.  It  was  reported  that  the  minister  had  told  him 
that  there  was  more  pride  in  his  leather  apron  than  in  Captain 
3  D 


50  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Browne's  scarlet  cloak ;  but  Joe  settled  the  matter  by  declaring 
that  the  apron  was  a  matter  of  conscience  with  him,  and  of 
course  after  that  there  was  no  more  to  be  said. 

These  leading  characters,  with  a  train  of  young  men  and 
maidens  who  practised  in  the  weekly  singing-school,  used  to  con- 
duct the  musical  devout  exercises  much  to  their  own  satisfaction, 
if  not  always  to  that  of  our  higher  circle. 

•  And  now,  having  taken  my  readers  through  the  lower  classes 
in  our  meeting-house,  I  must,  in  order  of  climax,  represent  to 
them  our  higher  orders. 

Social  position  was  a  thing  in  those  days  marked  by  lines 
whose  precision  and  distinctness  had  not  been  blurred  by  the 
rough  handling  of  democracy.  Massachusetts  was,  in  regard  to 
the  aroma  and  atmosphere  of  her  early  days,  an  aristocratic 
community.  The  seeds  of  democratic  social  equality  lay  as  yet 
ungerminated  in  her  soil.  The  State  was  a  garden  laid  out  with 
the  old  formal  parallelograms  and  clipped  hedges  of  princely 
courts  and  titled  ranks,  but  sown  with  seeds  of  a  new  and  ram- 
pant quality,  which  were  destined  to  overgrow  them  all. 

Even  our  little  town  had  its  court  circle,  its  House  of  Lords 
and  House  of  Commons,  with  all  the  etiquette  and  solemn  obser- 
vances thereto  appertaining.  At  the  head  stood  the  minister  and 
his  wife,  whose  rank  was  expressed  by  the  pew  next  the  pulpit. 
Then  came  Captain  Browne,  a  retired  English  merchant  and 
ship-owner,  who  was  reported  to  have  ballasted  himself  with  a 
substantial  weight  of  worldly  substance.  Captain  Browne  was  a 
tall,  upright,  florid  man,  a  little  on  the  shady  side  of  life,  but 
carrying  his  age  with  a  cheerful  greenness.  His  long,  powdered 
locks  hung  in  a  well-tended  queue  down  his  back,  and  he  wore 
a  scarlet  coat,  with  a  white  vest  and  stock,  and  small-clothes, 
while  long  silk  stockings  with  knee  and  shoe  buckles  of  the  best 
paste,  sparkling  like  real  diamonds,  completed  his  attire.  His 
wife  rustled  by  his  side  in  brocade  which  might  almost  stand 
alone  for  stiffness,  propped  upon  heels  that  gave  a  majestic  alti- 
tude to  her  tall,  thin  figure. 

Next  came  the  pew  of  Miss  Mehitable  Rossiter,  who,  in  right 
of  being  the  only  surviving  member  of  the  family  of  the  former 


THE  OLD  MEETING-HOUSE.  61 

minister,  was  looked  upon  with  reverence  in  Oldtown,  and  took 
rank  decidedly  in  the  Upper  House,  although  a  very  restricted 
and  limited  income  was  expressed  in  the  quality  of  her  attire. 
Her  Sunday  suit  in  every  article  .spoke  of  ages  past,  rather  than 
of  the  present  hour.  Her  laces  were  darned,  though  still  they 
were  laces ;  her  satin  gown  had  been  turned  and  made  over,  till 
every  possible  capability  of  it  was  exhausted ;  and  her  one  Sun- 
day bonnet  exhibited  a  power  of  coming  out  in  fresh  forms,  with 
each  revolving  season,  that  was  quite  remarkable,  particularly 
as  each  change  was  somewhat  odder  than  the  last.  But  still,  as 
everybody  knew  that  it  was  Miss  Mehitable  Rossi ter,  and  no 
meaner  person,  her  queer  bonnets  and  dyed  gowns  were  accepted 
as  a  part  of  those  inexplicable  dispensations  of  the  Providence 
that  watches  over  the  higher  classes,  which  are  to  be  received  by 
faith  alone. 

In  the  same  pew  with  Miss  Mehitable  sat  Squire  Jones,  once, 
in  days  of  colonial  rule,  rejoicing  in  the  dignity  of  Sheriff  of  the 
County.  During  the  years  of  the  Revolutionary  war,  he  had  mys- 
teriously vanished  from  view,  as  many  good  Tories  did  ;  but  now 
that  the  new  social  status  was  well  established,  he  suddenly  re- 
appeared in  the  neighborhood,  and  took  his  place  as  an  orderly 
citizen,  unchallenged  and  unquestioned.  It  was  enough  that  the 
Upper  House  received  him.  The  minister  gave  him  his  hand, 
and  Lady  Lothrop  courtesied  to  him,  and  called  on  his  wife,  and 
that,  of  course,  settled  the  manner  in  which  the  parish  were  to 
behave ;  and,  like  an  obedient  flock,  they  all  jumped  the  fence 
after  their  shepherd.  Squire  Jones,  besides,  was  a  well-formed, 
well-dressed  man,  who  lived  in  a  handsome  style,  and  came  to 
meeting  in  his  own  carriage ;  and  these  are  social  virtues  not  to 
be  disregarded  in  any  well-regulated  community. 

There  were  certain  well-established  ranks  and  orders  in  social 
position  in  Oldtown,  which  it  is  important  that  I  should  distinctly 
define.  People  who  wore  ruffles  round  their  hands,  and  rode 
in  their  own  coaches,  and  never  performed  any  manual  labor, 
might  be  said  to  constitute  in  Oldtown  our  House  of  Lords, — 
and  they  might  all  have  been  counted  on  two  or  three  of  my 
fingers.  It  was,  in  fact,  confined  to  the  personages  already 


52  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

enumerated.  There  were  the  minister,  Captain  Browne,  and 
Sheriff  Jones. 

But  below  these,  yet  associating  with  them  on  terms  of  strict 
equality,  were  a  more  numerous  body  of  Commons,  —  men  of 
substance  and  influence,  but  who  tilled  the  earth  with  their  own 
hands,  or  pursued  some  other  active  industrial  calling. 

Distinguished  among  these,  sitting  in  the  next  pew  to  the 
Sheriff,  was  Major  Broad,  a  practical  farmer,  who  owned  a  large 
and  thriving  farm  of  the  best  New  England  type,  and  presented 
that  true  blending  of  the  laboring  man  and  the  gentleman  which 
is  nowhere  else  found.  Pie  had  received  his  military  rank  for 
meritorious  services  in  the  late  Revolutionary  war,  and  he  came 
back  to  his  native  village  with  that  indefinable  improvement  in 
air  and  manner  which  is  given  by  the  habits  of  military  life. 
With  us  he  owed  great  prestige  to  a  certain  personal  resem- 
blance to  General  Washington  which  he  was  asserted  to  have  by 
one  of  our  townsfolk,  who  had  often  seen  him  and  the  General  on 
the  same  field,  and  who  sent  the  word  abroad  in  the  town  that 
whoever  wanted  to  know  how  General  Washington  looked  had 
only  to  look  upon  Major  Broad.  The  Major  was  too  much  of  a 
real  man  to  betray  the  slightest  consciousness  of  this  advantage, 
but  it  invested  him  with  an  air  of  indefinable  dignity  in  the  eyes 
of  all  his  neighbors,  especially  those  of  the  lower  ranks. 

Next  came  my  grandfather's  family  pew ;  and  in  our  Oldtown 
House  of  Commons  I  should  say  that  none  stood  higher  than  he. 
In  his  Sunday  suit  my  grandfather  was  quite  a  well-made,  hand- 
some man.  His  face  was  marked  by  grave,  shrewd  reflection,  and 
a  certain  gentle  cast  of  humor,  which  rarely  revealed  itself  even 
in  a  positive  smile,  and  yet  often  made  me  feel  as  if  he  were 
quietly  and  interiorly  smiling  at  his  own  thoughts.  His  well- 
brushed  Sunday  coat  and  small-clothes,  his  bright  knee  and  shoe 
buckles,  his  long  silk  stockings,  were  all  arranged  with  a  trim 
neatness  refreshing  to  behold.  His  hair,  instead  of  being  con- 
cealed by  a  wig,  or  powdered  and  tied  in  a  queue,  after  the  manner 
of  the  aristocracy,  fell  in  long  curls  on  his  shoulders,  and  was  a 
not  unbecoming  silvery  frame  to  the  placid  picture  of  his  face. 
He  was  a  man  by  nature  silent  and  retiring,  indisposed  to  any- 


THE   OLD   MEETING-HOUSE.  53 

thing  like  hurry  or  tumult,  rather  easy  and  generously  free  in  his 
business  habits,  and  quietly  sanguine  in  his  expectations.  In 
point  of  material  possessions  he  was  reputed  well  to  do,  as  he 
owned  a  large  farm  and  two  mills,  and  conducted  the  business 
thereof  with  a  quiet  easiness  which  was  often  exceedingly  pro- 
voking to  my  grandmother  and  Aunt  Lois.  No  man  was  more 
popular  in  the  neighborhood,  and  the  confidence  of  his  fellow- 
townsmen  was  yearly  expressed  in  town-meeting  by  his  reappoint- 
ment  to  every  office  of  trust  which  he  could  be  induced  to  accept. 
He  was  justice  of  the  peace,  deacon  of  the  church,  selectman, — 
in  short,  enjoyed  every  spiritual  and  temporal  office  by  the  be- 
stowal of  which  his  fellow-men  could  express  confidence  in  him. 
This  present  year,  indeed,  he  bore  the  office  of  tithing-man, 
in  association  with  Mr.  Israel  Scran.  It  had  been  thought  that 
it  would  be  a  good  thing,  in  order  to  check  the  increasing 
thoughtlessness  of  the  rising  generation  in  regard  to  Sunday- 
keeping,  to  enlist  in  this  office  an  authority  so  much  respected 
as  Deacon  Badger ;  but  the  manner  in  which  he  performed  its 
duties  was  not  edifying  to  the  minds  of  strictly  disposed  people. 
The  Deacon  in  his  official  capacity  was  expected  to  stalk  forth 
at  once  as  a  terror  to  evil-doers,  whereas  he  seemed  to  have 
no  capacity  for  terrifying  anybody.  When  a  busy  individual 
informed  him  that  this  or  that  young  person  was  to  be  seen 
walking  out  in  the  fields,  or  picking  flowers  in  their  gardens  of  a 
Sabbath  afternoon,  the  Deacon  always  placidly  answered  that  he 
had  n't  seen  them ;  from  which  the  ill-disposed  would  infer  that 
he  looked  another  way,  of  set  purpose,  and  the  quiet  internal 
smile  that  always  illuminated  the  Deacon's  face  gave  but  too 
much  color  to  this  idea. 

In  those  days  the  great  war  of  theology  which  has  always 
divided  New  England  was  rife,  and  every  man  was  marked  and 
ruled  as  to  his  opinions,  and  the  thcologic  lines  passed  even 
through  the  conjugal  relation,  which  often,  like  everything  else, 
had  its  Calvinistic  and  its  Arminian  side. 

My  grandfather  was  an  Arminian,  while  my  grandmother  was, 
as  I  have  said,  an  earnest,  ardent  Calvinist.  Many  were  the 
controversies  I  have  overheard  between  them,  in  which  the  texts 


54  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

of  Scripture  flew  thick  and  fast,  until  my  grandfather  at  last 
would  shut  himself  up  in  that  final  fortress  of  calm  and  smiling 
silence  which  is  so  provoking  to  feminine  ardor.  There  in- 
trenched, he  would  look  out  upon  his  assailants  with  a  quiet, 
imperturbable  good-humor  which  quite  drove  them  to  despair. 

It  was  a  mystery  to  my  grandmother  how  a  good  man,  as  she 
knew  my  grandfather  to  be,  could  remain  years  unmoved  in  the 
very  hearing  of  such  unanswerable  arguments  as  she  had  a 
thousand  times  brought  up,  and  still,  in  the  very  evening  of  his 
days,  go  on  laying  his  serene  old  head  on  an  Armmian  pillow ! 
My  grandfather  was  a  specimen  of  that  class  of  men  who  can 
walk  amid  the  opinions  of  their  day,  encircled  by  a  halo  of  serene 
and  smiling  individuality  which  quarrels  with  nobody,  and,  with- 
out shocking  any  one's  prejudices,  preserves  intact  the  liberty 
of  individual  dissent.  He  silently  went  on  thinking  and  doing 
exactly  as  he  pleased,  and  yet  was  always  spoken  of  as  the 
good  Deacon.  His  calm,  serene,  benignant  figure  was  a  sort 
of  benediction  as  he  sat  in  his  pew  of  a  Sunday ;  and  if  he 
did  not  see  the  little  boys  that  played,  or,  seeing  them,  only  smil- 
ingly brought  them  to  a  sense  of  duty  by  passing  them  a  head  of 
fennel  through  the  slats  of  the  pews,  still  Deacon  Badger  was 
reckoned  about  the  best  man  in  the  world. 

By  the  side  of  my  grandfather  sat  his  eldest  born,  Uncle  Jacob, 
a  hale,  thrifty  young  farmer,  who,  with  his  equally  hale  and  thrifty 
wife,  was  settled  on  a  well-kept  farm  at  some  distance  from  ours. 
Uncle  Jacob  was  a  genuine  son  of  the  soil,  whose  cheeks  were 
ruddy  as  clover,  and  teeth  as  white  as  new  milk.  He  had  grown 
up  on  a  farm,  as  quietly  as  a  tree  grows,  and  had  never  been  ten 
miles  from  his  birthplace.  He  was  silent,  contented,  and  indus- 
trious. He  was  in  his  place  to  be  prayed  for  as  one  of  a  be- 
reaved family,  of  course,  this  morning ;  but  there  was  scarcely 
more  capability  of  mourning  in  his  plump,  healthy  body  than 
there  is  in  that  of  a  well-fed,  tranquil  steer.  But  he  took  his 
weekly  portion  of  religion  kindly.  It  was  the  thing  to  do  on  Sun- 
day, as  much  as  making  hay  or  digging  potatoes  on  Monday. 
His  wife  by  his  side  displayed  no  less  the  aspect  of  calm,  re- 
spectable, well-to-do  content.  Her  Sunday  bonnet  was  without 


THE   OLD  MEETING-HOUSE.  55 

spot,  her  Sunday  gown  without  wrinkle;  and  she  had  a  great 
bunch  of  fennel  in  her  pocket-handkerchief,  which,  from  time  to 
time,  she  imparted  to  us  youngsters  with  a  benevolent  smile. 

Far  otherwise  was  the  outward  aspect  of  my  grandmother's 
brother,  Eliakirn  Sheril.  He  was  a  nervous,  wiry,  thin,  dry 
little  old  man,  every  part  of  whose  body  appeared  to  be  hung 
together  by  springs  that  were  in  constant  vibration.  He  had 
small,  keen  black  eyes,  a  thin,  sharp  hooked  nose,  which  he  was 
constantly  buffeting,  and  blowing,  and  otherwise  maltreating,  in 
the  fussy  uneasiness  which  was  the  habit  of  the  man. 

Uncle  'Liakini  was  a  man  known  as  Uncle  to  all  the  village,  — 
the  kindest-souled,  most  untiringly  benevolent,  single-hearted  old 
body  that  could  be  imagined ;  but  his  nervous  activity  was  such 
as  to  have  procured  among  the  boys  a  slight  change  in  the  ren- 
dering of  his  name,  which  was  always  popularly  given  as  Uncle 
Fliakim,  and,  still  more  abbreviated,  Uncle  Fly. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  Mr.  Sheril  is,"  says  an  inquirer  at 
the  door  of  my  grandfather's  mill. 

"  If  you  want  to  find  'Liakim,"  says  my  grandfather,  with  liis 
usual  smile,  "  never  go  after  him,  —  you  '11  never  catch  him ;  but 
stand  long  enough  on  any  one  spot  on  earth,  and  he  's  sure  to  go 

by-" 

Uncle  'Liakim  had  his  own  particular  business,  —  the  oversee- 
ing of  a  soap  and  candle  factory ;  but,  besides  that,  he  had  on  his 
mind  the  business  of  everybody  else  in  town,  —  the  sorrows  of 
every  widow,  the  lonely  fears  of  every  spinster,  the  conversion 
of  every  reprobate,  the  orthodoxy  of  every  minister,  the  manners 
and  morals  of  all  the  parish,  —  all  of  which  caused  him  to  be  up 
early  and  down  late,  and  flying  about  confusedly  at  all  hours,  full 
of  zeal,  full  of  kindness,  abounding  in  .suggestions,  asking  ques- 
tions the  answers  to  which  he  could  not  stop  to  hear,  making 
promises  which  he  did  not  remember,  and  which  got  him  into  no 
end  of  trouble  with  people  who  did,  telling  secrets,  and  letting 
innumerable  cats  out  of  countless  bags,  to  the  dismay  and  affright 
of  all  reserved  and  well-conducted  people.  Uncle  Fliakim,  in 
fact,  might  be  regarded  in  our  village  of  Oldtown  as  a  little 
brown  pudding-stick  that  kept  us  in  a  perpetual  stir.  To  be 


56  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

sure,  it  was  a  general  stir  of  loving-kindness  and  good  inten- 
tions, yet  it  did  not  always  give  unlimited  satisfaction. 

For  instance,  some  of  the  more  strictly  disposed  members  of  the 
congregation  were  scandalized  that  Uncle  Fliakim,  every  stormy 
Sunday,  nearly  destroyed  the  solemnity  of  the  long  prayer  by 
the  officious  zeal  which  he  bestowed  in  getting  sundry  forlorn  old 
maids,  widows,  and  other  desolate  women  to  church.  He  had  a 
horse  of  that  immortal  species  well  known  in  country  villages, — 
made  of  whalebone  and  india-rubber,  with  a  long  neck,  a  ham- 
mer-head, and  one  blind  eye,  —  and  a  wagon  which  rattled  and 
tilted  and  clattered  in  every  part,  as  if  infected  with  a  double 
portion  of  its  owner's  spirits ;  and,  mounting  in  this,  he  would 
drive  miles  in  the  rain  or  the  snow,  all  for  the  pleasure  of  im- 
porting into  the  congregation  those  dry,  forlorn,  tremulous  speci- 
mens of  female  mortality  which  abound  in  every  village  congre 
gation. 

Uncle  Fliakim  had  been  talked  to  on  this  subject,  and  duly 
admonished.  The  benevolence  of  his  motives  was  allowed  ;  but 
why,  it  was  asked,  must  he  always  drive  his  wagon  with  a  bang 
against  the  doorstep  just  as  the  congregation  rose  to  the  first 
prayer?  It  was  a  fact  that  the  stillness  which  followed  the 
words,  "  Let  us  pray,"  was  too  often  broken  by  the  thump  of  the 
wagon  and  the  sound,  "Whoa,  whoa!  take  care,  there!"  from 
without,  as  Uncle  Fly's  blind  steed  rushed  headlong  against  the 
meeting-house  door,  as  if  he  were  going  straight  in,  wagon  and 
all;  and  then  there  would  be  a  further  most  uneclifying  giggle  and 
titter  of  light-minded  young  men  and  damsels  when  Aunt  Bath- 
sheba  Sawin  and  Aunt  Jerusha  Pettibone,  in  their  rusty  black- 
crape  bonnets,  with  their  big  black  fans  in  their  hands,  slowly 
rustled  and  creaked  into  their  seats,  while  the  wagon  and  Uncle 
'Liakim  were  heard  giggiting  away.  Then  the  boys,  if  the  tith- 
ing-man  was  not  looking  at  them,  would  bet  marbles  whether 
the  next  load  would  be  old  Mother  Chris  and  Phoebe  Drury,  or 
Hetty  Walker  and  old  Mother  Hopestill  Loker. 

It  was  a  great  offence  to  all  the  stricter  classes  that  Uncle 
Fly  should  demean  his  wagon  by  such  an  unedifying  character 
as  Mother  Hopestill  Loker ;  for,  though  her  name  intimated  that 


THE   OLD   MEETING-HOUSE.  57 

she  ought  to  have  charity,  still  she  was  held  no  better  than  a 
publican  and  sinner;  and  good  people  in  those  days  saw  the 
same  impropriety  in  such  people  having  too  much  to  do  with 
reputable  Christians  that  they  used  to  years  ago  in  a  country 
called  Palestine. 

For  all  these  reasons  Uncle  Fliakiin  was  often  dealt  with  as 
one  of  go'od  intentions,  but  wanting  the  wisdom  which  is  profit- 
able to  direct.  One  year  his  neighbors  thought  to  employ  his 
superfluous  activity  by  appointing  him  tithing-man  ;  and  great 
indeed  in  this  department  were  his  zeal  and  activity ;  but  it  was 
soon  found  that  the  dear  man's  innocent  sincerity  of  heart  made 
him  the  prey  of  every  village  good-for-naught  who  chose  to  take 
him  in.  All  the  naughty  boys  in  town  were  agog  with  expec- 
tancy when  Joe  Valentine  declared,  with  a  wink,  that  he  'd  drive 
a  team  Sunday  right  by  Uncle  Fly's  house,  over  to  Hopkinton, 
with  his  full  consent.  Accordingly,  the  next  Sunday  he  drove 
leisurely  by,  with  a  solemn  face  and  a  broad  weed  on  his  hat. 
Uncle  Fly  ran  panting,  half  dressed,  and  threw  himself  distract- 
edly on  the  neck  of  the  horse.  "  My  young  friend,  I  cannot  per- 
mit it.  You  must  turn  right  back." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Joe,  "  have  n't  you  heard  that  my  mother 
is  lying  dead  in  Hopkinton  at  this  very  moment  ?  " 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  said  my  uncle,  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon.  I  had  n't  heard  it.  Proceed,  by  all  means. 
I  'm  sorry  I  interrupted  you." 

The  next  morning  wicked  Joe  careered  by  again.  "  Good 
morning,  Mr.  Sheril.  I  s'pose  you  know  my  mother 's  been 
lying  dead  these  five  years  ;  but  I  *m  equally  obliged  for  your 
politeness." 

Vain  was  Uncle  Fly's  indignation.  Greater  men  than  be 
have  had  to  give  up  before  the  sovereign  power  of  a  laugh,  and 
erelong  he  resigned  the  office  of  tithing-man  as  one  requiring 
a  sterner  metal  than  he  possessed.  In  fact,  an  unsavory  char- 
acter, who  haunted  the  tavern  and  was  called  by  the  boys  Old 
Mopshear,  gave  a  resume  of  his  opinions  of  tithing-men  as  seen 
from  the  camp  of  the  enemy. 

"  Old  Deacon  Badger,"  he  said,  "  was  always  lookin'  't  other 
3* 


58  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

way,  and  never  saw  nothin'  Vwas  goin'  on.  But  there  was 
Uncle  Fliakim,  —  wal,  to  be  sure  the  gals  could  n't  tie  up  their 
shoes  without  he  was  a  lookin' ;  but  then,  come  to  railly  doin' 
anythin',  it  was  only  a  snap,  and  he  was  off  agin.  He  wa'  n't 
much  more  'n  a  niiddlin'-sized  grasshopper,  arter  all.  Tell  you 
what,"  said  Mopshear,  "  it  takes  a  fellow  like  Israel  Scran,  that 
knows  what  he 's  about,  and  's  got  some  body  to  do  with.  When 
old  Jerusalem  Ben  swore  he  'd  drive  the  stage  through  the  town 
a  Sunday,  I  tell  you  it  was  fun  to  see  Israel  Scran.  He  jest 
stood  out  by  the  road  and  met  the  hosses  smack,  and  turned  'em 
so  quick  that  the  stage  flopped  over  like  a  wink,  and  Ben  was 
off  rolling  over  and  over  in  the  sand.  Ben  got  the  wust  on  't 
that  time.  I  tell  you,  it  takes  Israel  Scran  to  be  tithing-nian ! " 

Good  Uncle  Fliakim  had  made  himself  extremely  busy  in  my 
father's  last  sickness,  dodging  out  of  one  door  and  in  at  another, 
at  all  hours ;  giving  all  manner  of  prescriptions  for  his  tempo- 
ral and  spiritual  state,  but  always  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  stop 
a  minute,  —  a  consideration  which,  I  heard  my  father  say,  was 
the  only  one  which  made  him  tolerable.  But,  after  all,  I  liked 
him,  though  he  invariably  tumbled  over  me,  either  in  coming 
into  or  going  out  of  the  house,  and  then  picked  me  up  and  gave 
me  a  cent,  and  went  on  rejoicing.  The  number  of  cents  I  ac- 
quired in  this  way  became  at  last  quite  a  little  fortune. 

But  time  would  fail  me  to  go  on  and  describe  all  the  quiddities 
and  oddities  of  our  Sunday  congregation.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that 
we  all  grew  in  those  days  like  the  apple-trees  in  our  back  lot. 
Every  man  had  his  own  quirks  and  twists,  and  threw  himself 
out  freely  in  the  line  of  his  own  individuality ;  and  so  a  rather 
jerky,  curious,  original  set  of  us  there  was.  But  such  as  we 
were,  high  and  low,  good  and  bad,  refined  and  illiterate,  barba- 
rian and  civilized,  negro  and  white,  the  old  meeting-house  united 
us  all  on  one  day  of  the  week,  and  its  solemn  services  formed  an 
insensible  but  strong  bond  of  neighborhood  charity. 

"VVe  may  rail  at  Blue  Laws  and  Puritan  strictness  as  much  as 
we  please,  but  certainly  those  communities  where  our  fathers 
carried  out  their  ideas  fully  had  their  strong  points ;  and,  rude 
and  primitive  as  our  meeting-houses  were,  this  weekly  union  of 


THE   OLD  MEETING-HOUSE.  59 

all  classes  in  them  was  a  most  powerful  and  efficient  means 
of  civilization.  The  man  or  woman  cannot  utterly  sink  who 
on  every  seventh  day  is  obliged  to  appear  in  decent  apparel,  and 
to  join  with  all  the  standing  and  respectability  of  the  community 
in  a  united  act  of  worship. 

Nor  were  our  Sunday  services,  though  simple,  devoid  of  their 
solemn  forms.  The  mixed  and  motley  congregation  came  in 
with  due  decorum  during  the  ringing  of  the  first  bell,  and  waited 
in  their  seats  the  advent  9f  the  minister.  The  tolling  of  the  bell 
was  the  signal  for  him  that  his  audience  were  ready  to  receive 
him,  and  he  started  from  his  house.  The  clerical  dress  of  the 
day,  the  black  silk  gown,  the  spotless  bands,  the  wig  and  three- 
cornered  hat  and  black  gloves,  were  items  of  professional  fitness 
which,  in  our  minister's  case,  never  failed  of  a  due  attention. 
When,  with  his  wife  leaning  on  his  arm,  he  entered  at  the  door 
of  the  meeting-house,  the  whole  congregation  rose  and  remained 
reverently  standing  until  he  had  taken  his  seat  in  the  pulpit. 
The  same  reverential  decorum  was  maintained  after  service  was 
over,  when  all  remained  standing  and  uncovered  while  the  min- 
ister and  his  family  passed  down  the  broad  aisle  and  left  the 
house.  Our  fathers  were  no  man-worshippers,  but  they  regarded 
the  minister  as  an  ambassador  from  the  great  Sovereign  of  the 
universe,  and  paid  reverence  to  Him  whose  word  he  bore  in 
their  treatment  of  him. 

On  the  Sunday  following  the  funeral  of  any  one  in  the  parish, 
it  was  customary  to  preach  a  sermon  having  immediate  reference 
to  the  event  which  had  occurred,  in  the  course  of  which  the 
nearest  friends  and  relatives  were  directly  addressed,  and  stood 
up  in  their  seats  to  receive  the  pastoral  admonition  and  consola- 
tion. I  remember  how  wan  and  faded,  like  a,  shimmering  flower, 
my  poor  mother  rose  in  her  place,  while  I  was  forcibly  held  down 
by  Aunt  Lois's  grasp  on  my  jacket  till  the  "  orphan  children  " 
were  mentioned,  when  I  was  sent  up  on  my  feet  with  an  impetus 
like  a  Jack  in  a  box ;  and  afterward  the  whole  family  circle 
arose  and  stood,  as  the  stream  of  admonition  and  condolence 
became  more  general.  We  were  reminded  that  the  God  of  the 
widow  and  orphan  never  dies,  —  that  this  life  is  the  shadow,  and 


60  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

the  life  to  come  the  substance,  —  that  there  is  but  one  thing  need- 
ful, —  that  as  our  departed  friend  is  to-day,  so  we  may  all  be  to- 
morrow ;  and  then  the  choir  sung,  to  the  tune  of  old  Darwen, 

"  Shall  man,  0  God  of  life  and  light, 

Forever  moulder  in  the  grave  ? 
Hast  thou  forgot  thy  glorious  work, 
Thy  promise  and  thy  power  to  save?  " 

I  cannot  say  much  for  our  country  psalmody.  Its  execution 
was  certainly  open  to  severe  criticism ;  and  Uncle  Fliakim,  on 
every  occasion  of  especial  solemnity,  aggravated  its  peculiarities 
by  tuning  up  in  a  high,  cracked  voice  a  weird  part,  in  those 
days  called  "  counter,"  but  which  would  in  our  days  insure  his 
being  taken  out  of  the  house  as  a  possessed  person.  But,  in 
spite  of  all  this,  those  old  minor-keyed  funeral  hymns  in  which 
our  fathers  delighted  always  had  a  quality  in  them  that  affected 
me  powerfully.  The  music  of  all  barbarous  nations  is  said  to 
be  in  the  minor  key,  and  there  is  in  its  dark  combinations 
something  that  gives  piercing  utterance  to  that  undertone  of 
doubt,  mystery,  and  sorrow  by  which  a  sensitive  spirit  always  is 
encompassed  in  this  life. 

I  was  of  a  peculiarly  sensitive  organization ;  my  nerves  shiv- 
ered to  every  touch,  like  harp-strings.  What  might  have  come 
over  me  had  I  heard  the  solemn  chants  of  cathedrals,  and  the 
deep  pulsations  of  the  old  organ-hearts  that  beat  there,  I  cannot 
say,  but  certain  it  is  that  the  rude  and  primitive  singing  in  our 
old  meeting-house  always  excited  me  powerfully.  It  brought 
over  me,  like  a  presence,  the  sense  of  the  infinite  and  eternal, 
the  yearning  and  the  fear  and  the  desire  of  the  poor  finite  being, 
so  ignorant  and  so  helpless.  I  left  the  church  lifted  up  as  if 
walking  on  air,  with  the  final  words  of  the  psalm  floating  like  an 
illuminated  cloud  around  me,  — 

"  Faith  sees  the  bright  eternal  doors 

Unfold  to  make  His  children  way; 
They  shall  be  crowned  with  endless  life, 
And  shine  in  everlasting  day." 


FIRE-LIGHT   TALKS  IN  MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  KITCHEN.      61 
CHAPTER    VI. 

FIRE-LIGHT   TALKS    IN   MY    GRANDMOTHER'S    KITCHEN. 

MY  grandmother's  kitchen  was  a  great,  wide,  roomy  apart- 
ment, whose  white-sanded  floor  was  always  as  clean  as 
hands  could  make  it.  It  was  resplendent  with  the  sheen  of  a  set 
of  scoured  pewter  plates  and  platters,  which  stood  arranged  on  a 
dresser  on  one  side.  The  great  fireplace  swept  quite  across  an- 
other side.  There  we  burned  cord-wood,  and  the  fire  was  built 
up  on  architectural  principles  known  to  those  days.  First  came 
an  enormous  back-log,  rolled  in  with  the  strength  of  two  men,  on 
the  top  of  which  was  piled  a  smaller  log ;  and  then  a  fore-stick,  of 
a  size  which  would  entitle  it  to  rank  as  a  log  in  our  times,  went 
to  make  the  front  foundation  of  the  fire.  The  rearing  of  the 
ample  pile  thereupon  was  a  matter  of  no  small  architectural 
skill,  and  all  the  ruling  members  of  our  family  circle  had  their 
own  opinions  about  its  erection,  which  they  maintained  with 
the  zeal  and  pertinacity  which  become  earnest  people.  My 
grandfather,  with  his  grave  smile,  insisted  that  he  was  the  only 
reasonable  fire-builder  of  the  establishment;  but  when  he  had 
arranged  his  sticks  in  the  most  methodical  order,  my  grand- 
mother would  be  sure  to  rush  out  with  a  thump  here  and  a 
twitch  there,  and  divers  incoherent  exclamations  tending  to  imply 
that  men  never  knew  how  to  build  a  fire.  Frequently  her  intense 
zeal  for  immediate  effect  would  end  in  a  general  rout  and  roll  of 
the  sticks  in  all  directions,  with  puffs  of  smoke  down  the  chimney, 
requiring  the  setting  open  of  the  outside  door ;  and  then  Aunt  Lois 
would  come  to  the  rescue,  and,  with  a  face  severe  with  determina- 
tion, tear  down  the  whole  structure  and  rebuild  from  the  founda- 
tion with  exactest  precision,  but  with  an  air  that  cast  volumes  of 
contempt  on  all  that  had  gone  before.  The  fact  is,  that  there  is 
no  little  nook  of  domestic  life  which  gives  snug  harbor  to  so 
much  self-will  and  self-righteousness  as  the  family  hearth ;  and 


62  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

this  is  particularly  the  case  with  wood  fires,  because,  from  the 
miscellaneous  nature  of  the  material,  and  the  sprightly  activity 
of  the  combustion,  there  is  a  constant  occasion  for  tending  and 
alteration,  and  so  a  vast  field  for  individual  opinion. 

We  had  come  home  from  our  second  Sunday  service.  Our 
evening  meal  of  smoking  brown  bread  and  baked  beans  had  been 
discussed,  and  the  supper-things  washed  and  put  out '  of  sight. 
There  was  an  uneasy,  chill  moaning  and  groaning  out  of  doors, 
showing  the  coming  up  of  an  autumn  storm, — just  enough  chill 
and  wind  to  make  the  brightness  of  a  social  hearth  desirable, — 
and  my  grandfather  had  built  one  of  his  most  methodical  and 
splendid  fires. 

The  wide,  ample  depth  of  the  chimney  was  aglow  in  all  its 
cavernous  length  with  the  warm  leaping  light  that  burst  out  in 
lively  jets  and  spirts  from  every  rift  and  chasm.  The  great  black 
crane  that  swung  over  it,  with  its  multiplicity  of  pot-hooks  and 
trammels,  seemed  to  have  a  sort  of  dusky  illumination,  like  that 
of  old  CaBsar's  black,  shining  face,  as  he  sat  on  his  block  of  wood 
in  the  deep  recess  of  the  farther  corner,  with  his  hands  on  the 
knees  of  his  Sunday  pantaloons,  gazing  lovingly  into  the  blaze  with 
all  the  devotion  of  a  fire-worshipper.  On  week-day  evenings  old 
Ca3sar  used  to  have  his  jack-knife  in  active  play  in  this  corner,  and 
whistles  and  pop-guns  and  squirrel-traps  for  us  youngsters  grew 
under  his  plastic  hand ;  but  on  Sunday  evening  he  was  too  good 
a  Christian  even  to  think  of  a  jack-knife,  and  if  his  hand  casually 
encountered  it  in  his  pocket,  he  resisted  it  as  a  temptation  of  the 
Devil,  and  sat  peacefully  winking  and  blinking,  and  occasionally 
breaking  out  into  a  ripple  of  private  giggles  which  appeared  to 
spring  purely  from  the  overflow  of  bodily  contentment.  My  Uncle 
Bill  was  in  that  condition  which  is  peculiarly  apt  to  manifest  itself 
in  the  youth  of  well-conducted  families  on  Sunday  evenings,  —  a 
kind  of  friskiness  of  spirits  which  appears  to  be  a  reactionary  state 
from  the  spiritual  tension  of  the  day,  inclining  him  to  skirmish 
round  on  all  the  borders  and  outskirts  of  permitted  pleasantry, 
and  threatening  every  minute  to  burst  out  into  most  unbecoming 
uproariousness.  This  state  among  the  youngsters  of  a  family 
on  Sunday  evening  is  a  familiar  trial  of  all  elders  who  have  had 
the  task  of  keeping  them  steady  during  the  sacred  hours. 


FIRE-LIGHT   TALKS  IN  MY   GRANDMOTHER'S  KITCHEN.      63 

My  Uncle  Bill,  in  his  week-day  frame,  was  the  wit  and  buffoon 
of  the  family,  —  an  adept  in  every  art  that  could  shake  the  sides, 
and  bring  a  laugh  out  on  the  gravest  face.  His  features  were 
flexible,  his  powers  of  grimace  and  story-telling  at  times  irresist- 
ible. On  the  present  occasion  it  was  only  my  poor  mother's 
pale,  sorrowful  face  that  kept  him  in  any  decent  bounds.  He 
did  not  wish  to  hurt  his  sister's  feelings,  but  he  was  boiling  over 
with  wild  and  elfish  impulses,  which  he  vented  now  by  a  sly 
tweak  at  the  cat's  tail,  then  by  a  surreptitious  dig  at  black  Cesar's 
sides,  which  made  the  poor  black  a  helpless,  quivering  mass  of 
giggle,  and  then  he  would  slyly  make  eyes  and  mouths  at  Bill 
and  me  behind  Aunt  Lois's  chair,  which  almost  slew  us  with 
laughter,  though  all  the  while  he  appeared  with  painful  effort  to 
keep  on  a  face  of  portentous  gravity. 

On  the  part  of  Aunt  Lois,  however,  there  began  to  be  mani- 
fested unequivocal  symptoms  that  it  was  her  will  and  pleasure  to 
have  us  all  leave  our  warm  fireside  and  establish  ourselves  in 
the  best  room, — for  we  had  a  best  room,  else  wherefore  were  we 
on  tea-drinking  terms  with  the  high  aristocracy  of  Oldtown  ? 
We  had  our  best  room,  and  kept  it  as  cold,  as  uninviting  and 
stately,  as  devoid  of  human  light  or  warmth,  as  the  most  fashion- 
able shut-up  parlor  of  modern  days.  It  had  the  tallest  and 
brightest  pair  of  brass  andirons  conceivable,  and  a  shovel  and 
tongs  to  match,  that  were  so  heavy  that  the  mere  lifting  them  was 
work  enough,  without  doing  anything  with  them.  It  had  also  a 
bright-varnished  mahogany  tea-table,  over  which  was  a  looking- 
glass  in  a  gilt  frame,  with  a  row  of  little  architectural  balls  on  it ; 
which  looking-glass  was  always  kept  shrouded  in  white  muslin  at 
all  seasons  of  the  year,  on  account  of  a  tradition  that  flies  might 
be  expected  to  attack  it  for  one  or  two  weeks  in  summer.  But 
truth  compels  me  to  state,  that  I  never  saw  or  heard  of  a  fly 
whose  heart  could  endure  Aunt  Lois's  parlor.  It  was  so  dark, 
so  cold,  so  still,  that  all  that  frisky,  buzzing  race,  who  delight  in 
air  and  sunshine,  universally  deserted  and  seceded  from  it ;  yet 
the  looking-glass,  and  occasionally  the  fire-irons,  were  rigorously 
shrouded,  as  if  desperate  attacks  might  any  moment  be  expected. 

Now  the  kitchen  was  my  grandmother's  own  room.     In  one 


64  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

corner  of  it  stood  a  round  table  with  her  favorite  books,  her  great 
work-basket,  and  by  it  a  rickety  rocking-chair,  the  bottom  of 
which  was  of  ingenious  domestic  manufacture,  being  in  fact  made 
by  interwoven  strips  of  former  coats  and  pantaloons  of  the  home 
circle ;  but  a  most  comfortable  and  easy  seat  it  made.  My  grand- 
father had  also  a  large  splint-bottomed  arm-chair,  with  rockers  to 
it,  in  which  he  swung  luxuriously  in  the  corner  of  the  great  fire- 
place. By  the  side  of  its  ample  blaze  we  sat  down  to  our  family 
meals,  and  afterwards,  while  grandmother  and  Aunt  Lois  washed 
up  the  tea-things,  we  all  sat  and  chatted  by  the  firelight.  Now 
it  was  a  fact  that  nobody  liked  to  sit  in  the  best  room.  In  the 
kitchen  each  member  of  the  family  had  established  unto  him  or 
her  self  some  little  pet  private  snuggery,  some  chair  or  stool,  some 
individual  nook,  —  forbidden  to  gentility,  but  dear  to  the  ungenteel 
natural  heart,  —  that  we  looked  back  to  regretfully  when  we  were 
banished  to  the  colder  regions  of  the  best  room. 

There  the  sitting  provisions  were  exactly  one  dozen  stuffed- 
seated  cherry  chairs,  with  upright  backs  and  griffin  feet,  each 
foot  terminating  in  a  bony  claw,  which  resolutely  grasped  a  ball. 
These  chairs  were  high  and  slippery,  and  preached  decorum  in 
the  very  attitudes  which  they  necessitated,  as  no  mortal  could 
ever  occupy  them  except  in  the  exercise  of  a  constant  and  col- 
lected habit  of  mind. 

Things  being  thus,  when  my  Uncle  Bill  saw  Aunt  Lois  take 
up  some  coals  on  a  shovel,  and  look  towards  the  best-room  door, 
he  came  and  laid  his  hand  on  hers  directly,  with,  "  Now,  Lois, 
what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Going  to  make  up  a  fire  in  the  best  room." 

"Now,  Lois,  I  protest.  You  're  not  going  to  do  any  such  thing. 
Hang  grandeur  and  all  that. 

'  'Mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there  's  no  place  like  home,' 

you  know ;  and  home  means  right  here  by  mother's  kitchen-fire, 
where  she  and  father  sit,  and  want  to  sit.  You  know  nobody 
ever  wants  to  go  into  that  terrible  best  room  of  yours." 

"  Now,  Bill,  how  you  talk ! "  said  Aunt  Lois,  smiling,  and  put- 
ting down  her  shovel. 


FIRE-LIGHT   TALKS   IN  MY   GRANDMOTHER'S  KITCHEN.      65 

"  But  then,  you  see,"  she  said,  the  anxious  cloud  again  settling 
down  on  her  brow,  —  "  you  see,  we  're  exposed  to  calls,  and  who 
knows  who  may  come  in  ?  I  should  n't  wonder  if  Major  Broad, 
or  Miss  Mehitable,  might  drop  in.  as  they  saw  you  down  from 
College." 

"  Let  'em  come ;  never  fear.  They  all  know  we  've  got  a  best 
room,  and  that 's  enough.  Or,  if  you  M  rather,  I  '11  pin  a  card  to 
that  effect  upon  the  door ;  and  then  we  '11  take  our  ease.  Or, 
better  than  that,  I  '11  take  'em  all  in  and  show  'em  our  best 
chairs,  andirons,  and  mahogany  table,  and  then  we  can  come  out 
and  be  comfortable." 

"  Bill,  you  're  a  saucy  boy,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  looking  at  him 
indulgently  as  she  subsided  into  her  chair. 

"  Yes,  that  he  always  was,"  said  my  grandfather,  with  a  smile 
of  the  kind  that  fathers  give  to  frisky  sophomores  in  college. 

"  Well,  come  sit  down,  anyway,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  and 
let 's  have  a  little  Sunday-night  talk." 

"  Sunday-night  talk,  with  all  my  heart,"  said  Bill,  as  he  seat- 
ed himself  comfortably  right  in  front  of  the  cheerful  blaze. 
"  Well,  it  must  be  about  *  the  meetin'/  of  course.  Our  old 
meeting-house  looks  as  elegant  as  ever.  Of  all  the  buildings  I 
ever  saw  to  worship  any  kind  of  a  being  in,  that  meeting-house 
certainly  is  the  most  extraordinary.  It  really  grows  on  me 
every  time  I  come  home  !  " 

"  Come,  now,  Bill,"  said  Aunt  Lois. 

"  Come,  now !  Ain't  I  coming  ?  Have  n't  said  anything  but 
what  you  all  know.  Said  our  meeting-house  was  extraordinary, 
and  you  all  know  it  is ;  and  there  's  extraordinary  folks  in  it^ 
I  don't  believe  so  queer  a  tribe  could  be  mustered  in  all  the  land 
of  Israel  as  we  congregate.  I  hope  some  of  our  oddities  will  be 
in  this  evening  after  cider.  I  need  to  study  a  little,  so  that  I 
can  give  representations  of  nature  in  our  club  at  Cambridge. 
Nothing  like  going  back  to  nature,  you  know.  Old  Obscue, 
seems  to  me,  was  got  up  in  fine  fancy  this  morning;  and 
Sam  Lawson  had  an  extra  touch  of  the  hearse  about  him. 
Hepsy  must  have  been  disciplining  him  this  morning,  before 
church.  I  always  know  when  Sam  is  fresh  from  a  matrimonial 


66  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

visitation :  he 's  peculiarly  pathetic  about  the  gills  at  those  times. 
Why  don't  Sam  come  in  here  ?  " 

"  I  'm  sure  I  hope  he  won't,"  said  Aunt  Lois.  "  One  reason 
why  I  wanted  to  sit  in  the  best  room  to-night  was  that  every  old 
tramper  and  queer  object  sees  the  light  of  our  kitchen  fire, 
and  comes  in  for  a  lounge  and  a  drink ;  and  then,  when  one  has 
genteel  persons  calling,  it  makes  it  unpleasant." 

"  O,  we  all  know  you  're  aristocratic,  Lois ;  but,  you  see,  you 
can't  be  indulged.  You  must  have  your  purple  and  fine  linen 
and  your  Lazarus  at  the  gate  come  together  some  time,  just  as 
they  do  in  the  meeting-house  and  the  graveyard.  Good  for  you 
all,  if  not  agreeable." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a 
commotion  in  the  back  sink-room,  which  sounded  much  like  a 
rush  of  a  flight  of  scared  fowl.  It  ended  with  a  tumble  of  a 
row  of  milk-pans  toward  chaos,  and  the  door  flew  open  and 
Uncle  Fly  appeared. 

"  What  on  earth ! "  said  my  grandmother,  starting  up.  "  That 
you,  'Liakim  ?  Why  on  earth  must  you  come  in  the  back  way 
and  knock  down  all  my  milk-pans  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  came  'cross  lots  from  Aunt  Bathsheba  Sawin's,"  said 
Uncle  Fly,  dancing  in,  "  and  I  got  caught  in  those  pesky  black- 
berry-bushes in  the  graveyard,  and  I  do  believe  I  've  torn  my 
breeches  all  to  pieces,"  he  added,  pirouetting  and  frisking  with 
very  airy  gyrations,  and  trying  vainly  to  get  a  view  of  himself 
behind,  in  which  operation  he  went  round  and  round  as  a  cat 
does  after  her  tail. 

"  Laws  a-massy,  'Liakim  !  "  said  my  grandmother,  whose  ears 
were  startled  by  a  peculiar  hissing  sound  in  the  sink-room,  which 
caused  her  to  spring  actively  in  that  direction.  "  Well,  now,  you 
have  been  and  done  it !  You  've  gone  and  fidgeted  the  tap  out 
of  my  beer-barrel,  and  here 's  the  beer  all  over  the  floor.  I  hope 
you  're  satisfied  now." 

"Sorry  for  it.  Didn't  mean  to.  I'll  wipe  it  right  up. 
Where 's  a  towel,  or  floor-cloth,  or  something  ?  "  cried  Uncle  Fly, 
whirling  in  more  active  circles  round  and  round,  till  he  seemed 
to  me  to  have  a  dozen  pairs  of  legs. 


FIRE-LIGHT  TALKS  IN  MY   GRANDMOTHER'S  KITCHEN.      67 

"  Do  sit  down,  'Liakim,"  said  ray  grandmother.  "  Of  course 
you  did  n't  mean  to ;  but  next  time  don't  come  bustling  and 
whirligigging  through  my  back  sink-room  after  dark.  I  do  be- 
lieve you  never  will  be  quiet  till  you  're  in  your  grave." 

"Sit  down,  uncle,"  said  Bill.  "Never  mind  mother, —  she'll 
come  all  right  by  and  by.  And  never  mind  your  breeches,  —  all 
things  earthly  are  transitory,  as  Parson  Lothrop  told  us  to-day. 
Now  let 's  come  back  to  our  Sunday  talk.  Did  ever  anybody 
see  such  an  astonishing  providence  as  Miss  Mehitable  Rossiter's 
bonnet  to-day  ?  Does  it  belong  to  the  old  or  the  new  dispensa- 
tion, do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Bill,  I  'm  astonished  at  you !  "  said  Aunt  Lois. 

"Miss  Mehitable  is  of  a  most  respectable  family,"  said  Aunt 
Keziah,  reprovingly.  "Her  father  and  grandfather  and  great- 
grandfather were  all  ministers ;  and  two  of  her  mother's 
brothers,  Jeduthun  and  Amariah." 

"  Now,  take  care,  youngster,"  said  Uncle  Fly.  "  You  see  you 
young  colts  must  n't  be  too  airy.  When  a  fellow  begins  to  speak 
evil  of  bonnets,  nobody  knows  where  he  may  end." 

"  Bless  me,  one  and  all  of  you,"  said  Bill,  "  I  have  the  greatest 
respect  for  Miss  Mehitable.  Furthermore,  I  like  her.  She 's  a 
real  spicy  old  concern.  I  'd  rather  talk  with  her  than  any  dozen 
of  modern  girls.  But  I  do  wish  she  'd  give  me  that  bonnet  to 
put  in  our  Cambridge  cabinet.  I'd  tell  'em  it  was  the  wing  of  a 
Madagascar  bat.  Blessed  old  soul,  how  innocent  she  sat  under 
it !  —  never  knowing  to  what  wandering  thoughts  it  was  giving 
rise.  Such  bonnets  interfere  with  my  spiritual  progress." 

At  this  moment,  by  the  luck  that  always  brings  in  the  person 
people  are  talking  of,  Miss  Mehitable  came  in,  with  the  identi- 
cal old  wonder  on  her  head.  Now,  outside  of  our  own  blood- 
relations,  no  one  that  came  within  our  doors  ever  received  a 
warmer  welcome  than  Miss  Mehitable.  Even  the  children 
loved  her,  with  that  instinctive  sense  by  which  children  and 
dogs  learn  the  discerning  of  spirits.  To  be  sure  she  was  as 
gaunt  and  brown  as  the  Ancient  Mariner,  but  hers  was  a  style 
of  ugliness  that  was  neither  repulsive  nor  vulgar.  Personal  un- 
comeliness  has  its  differing  characters,  and  there  are  some  very 


68  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

homely  women  who  have  a  style  that  amounts  to  something 
like  beauty.  I  know  that  this  is  not  the  common  view  of  the 
matter;  but  I  am  firm  in  the  faith  that  some  very  homely 
women  have  a  certain  attraction  about  them  which  is  increased 
by  their  homeliness.  It  is  like  the  quaintness  of  Japanese 
china,  —  not  beautiful,  but  having  a  strong,  pronounced  charac- 
ter, as  far  remote  as  possible  from  the  ordinary  and  vulgar,  and 
which,  in  union  with  vigorous  and  agreeable  traits  of  mind,  is 
more  stimulating  than  any  mere  insipid  beauty. 

In  short,  Miss  Mehitable  was  a  specimen  of  what  I  should  call 
the  good-goblin  style  of  beauty.  And  people  liked  her  so  much 
that  they  came  to  like  the  singularities  which  individualized 
her  from  all  other  people.  Her  features  were  prominent  and 
harsh;  her  eyebrows  were  shaggy,  and  finished  abruptly  half 
across  her  brow,  leaving  but  half  an  eyebrow  on  each  side.  She 
had,  however,  clear,  trustworthy,  steady  eyes,  of  a  greenish  gray, 
which  impressed  one  with  much  of  that  idea  of  steadfast  faithful- 
ness that  one  sees  in  the  eyes  of  some  good,  homely  dogs. 
"  Faithful  and  true,"  was  written  in  her  face  as  legibly  as  eyes 
could  write  it. 

For  the  rest,  Miss  Mehitable  had  a  strong  mind,  was  an  om- 
nivorous reader,  apt,  ready  in  conversation,  and  with  a  droll, 
original  way  of  viewing  things,  which  made  her  society  ever 
stimulating.  To  me  her  house  was  always  full  of  delightful 
images,  —  a  great,  calm,  cool,  shady,  old-fashioned  house,  full  of 
books  and  of  quaint  old  furniture,  with  a  garden  on  one  side 
where  were  no  end  of  lilies,  hollyhocks,  pinks,  and  peonies,  to 
say  nothing  of  currants,  raspberries,  apples,  and  pears,  and  other 
carnal  delights,  all  of  which  good  Miss  Mehitable  was  free  to 
dispense  to  her  child-visitors.  It  was  my  image  of  heaven  to  be 
allowed  to  go  to  spend  an  afternoon  with  Miss  Mehitable,  and 
establish  myself,  in  a  shady  corner  of  the  old  study  which  con- 
tained her  father's  library,  over  an  edition  of  .^Esop's  Fables 
illustrated  with  plates,  which,  opened,  was  an  endless  field  of  en- 
chantment to  me. 

Miss  Mehitable  lived  under  the  watch  and  charge  of  an  ancient 
female  domestic  named  Polly  Shubel.  Polly  was  a  representa- 


HUE-LIGHT   TALKS   IN   MY   GRANDMOTHER'S  KITCHEN.      69 

tive  specimen  of  the  now  extinct  species  of  Yankee  serving- 
maids.  She  had  been  bred  up  from  a  child  in  the  Rosseter  fam- 
ily of  some  generations  back.  She  was  of  that  peculiar  kind  of 
constitution,  known  in  New  England,  which  merely  becomes  drier 
and  tougher  with  the  advance  of  time,  without  giving  any  other 
indications  of  old  age.  The  exact  number  of  her  years  was  a 
point  unsettled  even  among  the  most  skilful  genealogists  of  Old- 
town.  Polly  was  a  driving,  thrifty,  doctrinal  and  practical 
female,  with  strong  bones  and  muscles,  and  strong  opinions,  be- 
lieving most  potently  in  early  rising,  soap  and  sand,  and  the  As- 
sembly's Catechism,  and  knowing  certainly  all  that  she  did  know. 
Polly  considered  Miss  Mehitable  as  a  sort  of  child  under  her 
wardship,  and  conducted  the  whole  business  of  life  for  her  with 
a  sovereign  and  unanswerable  authority.  As  Miss  Mehitable's 
tastes  were  in  the  world  of  books  and  ideas,  rather  than  of  physi- 
cal matters,  she  resigned  herself  to  Polly's  sway  with  as  good  a 
grace  as  possible,  though  sometimes  she  felt  that  it  rather  abridged 
her  freedom  of  action. 

Luckily  for  my  own  individual  self,  Polly  patronized  me,  and 
gave  me  many  a  piece  of  good  advice,  sweetened  with  ginger- 
bread, when  I  went  to  visit  Miss  Rossiter.  I  counted  Miss  Me- 
hitable among  my  personal  friends ;  so  to-night,  when  she  came  in, 
I  came  quickly  and  laid  hold  of  the  skirt  of  her  gown,  and  looked 
admiringly  upon  her  dusky  face,  under  the  portentous  shadow  of 
a  great  bonnet  shaded  by  nodding  bows  of  that  preternatural 
color  which  people  used  to  call  olive-green.  She  had  a  word  for 
us  all,  a  cordial  grasp  of  the  hand  for  my  mother,  who  sat  silent 
and  thoughtful  in  her  corner,  and  a  warm  hand-shake  all  round. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  drawing  out  an  old-fashioned  snuff-box, 
and  tapping  upon  it,  "  my  house  grew  so  stupid  that  I  must  come 
and  share  my  pinch  of  snuff  with  you.  It  's  windy  out  to-night, 
and  I  should  think  a  storm  was  brewing;  and  the  rattling  of 
one's  own  window-blinds,  as  one  sits  alone,  is  n't  half  so  amus- 
ing as  some  other  things." 

"  You  know,  Miss  Rossiter,  we  're  always  delighted  to  have 
you  come  in,"  said  my  grandmother,  and  my  Aunt  Lois,  and  my 
Aunt  Keziah,  all  at  once.  This,  by  the  way,  was  a  little  domestic 


70  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

trick  that  the  females  of  our  family  had ;  and,  as  their  voices  were 
upon  very  different  keys,  the  effect  was  somewhat  peculiar.  My 
Aunt  Lois's  voice  was  high  and  sharp,  my  grandmother's  a  hearty 
chest-tone,  while  Aunt  Keziah's  had  an  uncertain  buzz  between 
the  two,  like  the  vibrations  of  a  loose  string ;  but  as  they  all  had 
corresponding  looks  and  smiles  of  welcome,  Miss  Mehitable  was 
pleased. 

"  I  always  indulge  myself  in  thinking  I  am  welcome,"  she  said. 
"  And  now  pray  how  is  our  young  scholar,  Master  William  Badg- 
er ?  What  news  do  you  bring  us  from  old  Harvard  ?  " 

"Almost  anything  you  want  to  hear,  Miss  Mehitable.  You 
know  that  I  am  your  most  devoted  slave." 

"  Not  so  sure  of  that,  sir,"  she  said,  with  a  whimsical  twinkle  of 
her  eye.  "  Don't  you  know  that  your  sex  are  always  treacherous  ? 
How  do  I  know  that  you  don't  serve  up  old  Miss  Rossiter  when 
you  give  representations  of  the  Oldtown  curiosities  there  at  Cam- 
bridge ?  We  are  a  set  here  that  might  make  a  boy's  fortune  in 
that  line,  —  now  are  n't  we  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  do  serve  up  Oldtown  curiosities  ?  " 
said  Bill,  somewhat  confused,  and  blushing  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair. 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  Can  the  Ethiopian  change  his  skin,  or  the 
leopard  his  spots?  and  can  you  help  being  a  mimic,  as  you 
were  born,  always  were  and  always  will  be  ?  " 

"  O,  but  I  'm  sure,  Miss  Mehitable,  Bill  never  would,  —  he 
has  too  much  respect,"  said  Aunt  Keziah  and  Aunt  Lois,  simul- 
taneously again. 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  if  he  wants  to,  he  's  welcome.  What  are 
queer  old  women  for,  if  young  folks  may  not  have  a  good  laugh 
out  of  them  now  and  then  ?  If  it 's  only  a  friendly  laugh,  it 's  just 
as  good  as  crying,  and  better  too.  I  'd  like  to  be  made  to  laugh 
at  myself.  I  think  generally  we  take  ourselves  altogether  too 
seriously.  What  now,  bright  eyes?"  she  added,  as  I  nestled 
nearer  to  her.  "  Do  you  want  to  come  up  into  an  old  woman's 
lap  ?  Well,  here  you  come.  Bless  me,  what  a  tangle  of  curls  we 
have  here !  Don't  your  thoughts  get  caught  in  these  curls  some- 
times ?  " 


FIRE-LI$fiT   TALKS  IN   MY   GRANDMOTHER'S  KITCHEN.      71 

I  looked  bashful  and  wistful  at  this  address,  and  Miss  Habit- 
able went  on  twining  my  curls  around  her  fingers,  and  trotting  me 
on  her  knee,  lulling  me  into  a  delicious  dreaminess,  in  which  she 
seemed  to  me  to  be  one  of  those  nice,  odd-looking  old  fairy 
women  that  figure  to  such  effect  in  stories. 

The  circle  all  rose  again  as  Hajor  Broad  came  in.  Aunt  Lois 
thought,  with  evident  anguish,  of  the  best  room.  Here  was  the 
Major,  sure  enough,  and  we  all  sitting  round  the  kitchen  fire ! 
But  my  grandfather  and  grandmother  welcomed  him  cheerfully 
to  their  corner,  and  enthroned  him  in  my  grandfather's  splint- 
bottomed  rocking-chair,  where  he  sat  far  more  comfortably  than 
if  he  had  been  perched  on  a  genteel,  slippery-bottomed  stuffed 
chair  with  claw  feet. 

The  Major  performed  the  neighborly  kindnesses  of  the  occa- 
sion in  an  easy  way.  He  spoke  a  few  words  to  my  mother  of  the 
esteem  and  kindness  he  had  felt  for  my  father,  in  a  manner  that 
called  up  the  blood  into  her  thin  cheeks,  and  made  her  eyes 
dewy  with  tears.  Then  he  turned  to  the  young  collegian,  recog- 
nizing him  as  one  of  the  rising  lights  of  Oldtown. 

"  Our  only  nobility  now,"  he  said  to  my  grandfather.  "  We've 
cut  off  everything  else :  no  distinction  now,  sir,  but  educated  and 
uneducated." 

"  It  is  a  hard  struggle  for  our  human  nature  to  give  up  titles 
and  ranks,  though,"  said  Miss  Mehitable.  "  For  my  part,  I  have 
a  ridiculous  kindness  for  them  yet.  I  know  it 's  all  nonsense ; 
but  I  can't  help  looking  back  to  the  court  we  used  to  have  at  the 
Government  House  in  Boston.  You  know  it  was  something  to 
hear  of  the  goings  and  doings  of  my  Lord  this  and  my  Lady  that, 
and  of  Sir  Thomas  and  Sir  Peter  and  Sir  Charles,  and  all  the 
rest  of  'em." 

"  Yes,"  said  Bill ;  "  the  Oldtown  folks  call  their  minister's  wife 
Lady  yet." 

"  Well,  that 's  a  little  comfort,"  said  Miss  Mehitable ;  "  one 
don't  want  life  an  entire  dead  level.  Do  let  us  have  one  titled 
lady  among  us." 

"  And  a  fine  lady  she  is,"  said  the  Major.  "  Our  parson  did  a 
good  thing  in  that  alliance." 


72  OLDTOWN  FOLKvS. 

While  the  conversa/ion  was  thus  taking  a  turn  of  the  most  ap- 
proved genteel  style,  Aunt  Keziah's  ears  heard  alarming  premon- 
itory sounds  outside  the  door.  "  Who  's  that  at  the  scraper  ? " 
said  she. 

"  O,  it 's  Sam  Lawson,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  with  a  sort  of  groan. 
"  You  may  be  sure  of  that." 

"  Come  in,  Sam,  my  boy,"  said  Uncle  Bill,  opening  the  door. 
"  Glad  .to  see  you." 

"  Wai  now,  Mr.  Badger,"  said  Sam,  with  white  eyes  of  vener- 
ation, "  I  'm  real  glad  to  see  ye.  I  telled  Hepsy  you  'd  want  to 
see  me.  You  're  the  fust  one  of  my  Saturday  arternoon  fishin' 
boys  that 's  got  into  college,  and  I  'm  'mazing  proud  on  't.  I  tell 
you  I  walk  tall,  —  ask  'em  if  I  don't,  round  to  the  store." 

"  You  always  were  gifted  in  that  line,"  said  Bill.  "  But  come, 
sit  down  in  the  corner  and  tell  us  what  you  've  been  about." 

"Wai,  you  see,  I  thought  I'd  jest  go  over  to  North  Parish 
this  arternoon,  jest  for  a  change,  like,  and  I  wanted  to  hear  one 
of  them  Hopkintinsians  they  tell  so  much  about;  and  Parson 
Simpson,  he  's  one  on  'em." 

"  You  ought  not  to  be  roving  off  on  Sunday,  leaving  your  own 
meeting,"  said  my  grandfather. 

"  Wai,  you  see,  Deacon  Badger,  I  'm  interested  in  these  'ere 
new  doctrines.  I  met  your  Polly  a  goin'  over,  too,"  he  said  to 
Miss  Mehitable. 

"  O  yes,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  "  Polly  is  a  great  Hopkinsian. 
She  can  hardly  have  patience  to  sit  under  our  Parson  Lothrop's 
preaching.  It 's  rather  hard  on  me,  because  Polly  makes  it  a 
point  of  conscience  to  fight  every  one  of  his  discourses  over  to 
me  in  my  parlor.  Somebody  gave  Polly  an  Arminian  tract  last 
Sunday,  entitled,  'The  Apostle  Paul  an  Arminian.'  It  would 
have  done  you  good  to  hear  Polly's  comments.  '  'Postle  Paul  an 
Arminian !  He 's  the  biggest  'lectioner  of  'em  all.'  " 

"  That  he  is,"  said '  my  grandmother,  warmly.  "  Polly 's  read 
her  Bible  to  some  purpose." 

"  Well,  Sam,  what  did  you  think  of  the  sermon  ?  "  said  Uncle 
Bill. 

"  Wai,"  said  Sam,  leaning  over  the  fire,  with  his  long,  bony 


FIRE-LIGHT    TALKS    IN   MY    GKAISDMOTHKK'S   K1TC1ILX.       73 

hands  alternately  raised  to  catch  the  warmth,  and  then  dropped 
with  an  utter  laxness,  when  the  warmth  became  too  pronounced, 
"  Parson  Simpson  's  a  smart  man ;  but,  I  tell  ye,  it 's  kind  o'  dis- 
couragin'.  Why,  he  said  our  state  and  condition  by  natur  was 
just  like  this.  We  was  clear  down  in  a  well  fifty  feet  deep,  and 
the  sides  all  round  nothin'  but  glare  ice ;  but  we  was  under  imme- 
diate obligations  to  get  out,  'cause  we  was  free,  voluntary  agents. 
But  nobody  ever  had  got  out,  and  nobody  would,  unless  the  Lord 
reached  down  and  took  'em.  And  whether  he  would  or  not  no- 
body could  tell ;  it  was  all  sovereignty.  He  said  there  wa'  n't  one 
in  a  hundred,  —  not  one  in  a  thousand,  —  not  one  in  ten  thou- 
sand, —  that  would  be  saved.  Lordy  massy,  says  I  to  myself,  ef 
that 's  so  they  're  any  of  'em  welcome  to  my  chance.  And  so  I 
kind  o'  ris  up  and  come  out,  'cause  I  'd  got  a  pretty  long  walk 
home,  and  I  wanted  to  go  round  by  South  Pond,  and  inquire 
about  Aunt  Sally  Morse's  toothache." 

"  I  heard  the  whole  sermon  over  from  Polly,"  said  Miss  Mehit- 
able,  "  and  as  it  was  not  a  particularly  cheerful  subject  to  think 
of,  I  came  over  here."  These  words  were  said  with  a  sort  of 
chilly,  dreary  sigh,  that  made  me  turn  and  look  up  in  Miss  Me- 
hitable's  face.  It  looked  haggard  and  weary,  as  of  one  tired  of 
struggling  with  painful  thought.-?. 

"Wai,"  said  Sam  Lawson,  "I  stopped  a  minute  round  to 
your  back  door,  Miss  Rossiter,  to  talk  with  Polly  about  the  ser- 
nion.  I  was  a  tellin'  Polly  that  that  'ere  was  puttin'  inability  a 
leetle  too  strong." 

"  Not  a  bit,  not  a  bit,"  said  Uncle  Fly,  "  so  long  as  it 's  moral 
inability.  There  's  the  point,  ye  see,  —  moral,  —  that 's  the 
word.  That  makes  it  all  right." 

"  Wai,"  said  Sam,  "  I  was  a  puttin'  it  to  Polly  this  way. 
Ef  a  man  's  cut  off  his  hands,  it  ain't  right  to  require  him  to 
chop  wood.  Wai,  Polly,  she  says  he  'd  no  business  to  cut  his 
hands  off;  and  so  he  ought  to  be  required  to  chop  the  wood  all 
the  same.  Wai,  I  telled  her  it  was  Adam  chopped  our  hands  off. 
But  she  said,  no;  it  was  we  did  it  m'Adam,  and  she  brought 
up  the  catechise  plain  enough,  —  We  sinned  in  him,  and  fell  with 
him.'" 

4 


74  OLDTOWX  FOLKS. 

"  She  had  you  there,  Sam,"  said  Uncle  Fly,  with  great  con- 
tent. "  You  won't  catch  Polly  tripping  on  the  catechism." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  said  Major  Broad,  "  I.  don't  like  these 
doctrinal  subtil  ties,  Deacon  Badger.  Now  I  've  got  a  volume 
of  Mr.  Addison's  religious  writings  that  seem  to  me  about  the 
right  thing.  They  're  very  pleasing  reading.  Mr.  Addison  is 
my  favorite  author  of  a  Sunday." 

"  I  'ru  afraid  Mr.  Addison  had  nothing  but  just  mere  morality 
and  natural  religion,"  said  my  grandmother,  who  could  not  be 
withheld  from  bearing  her  testimony.  "  You  don't  find  any  of 
the  discriminating  doctrines  in  Mr.  Addison.  Major  Broad,  did 
you  ever  read  Mr.  Bellamy's  'True  Religion  Delineated  and 
Distinguished  from  all  Counterfeits  '  ?  " 

"  No,  madam,  I  never  did,"  said  Major  Broad. 

"Well,  I  earnestly  hope  you  will  read  that  book,"  said  my 
grandmother. 

"  My  wife  is  always  at  me  about  one  good  book  or  another," 
said  my  grandfather ;  "  but  I  manage  to  do  with  my  old  Bible. 
I  have  n't  used  that  up  yet." 

"  I  should  know  about  Dr.  Bellamy's  book  by  this  time,"  said 
Miss  Mehitable,  "for  Polly  intrenches  herself  in  that,  and 
preaches  out  of  it  daily.  Polly  certainly  missed  her  vocation 
when  she  was  trained  for  a  servant.  She  is  a  born  professor  of 
theology.  She  is  so  circumstantial  about  all  that  took  place  at 
the  time  the  angels  fell,  and  when  the  covenant  was  made  with 
Adam  in  the  Garden  of  Eden,  that  I  sometimes  question  whether 
she  really  might  not  have  been  there  personally.  Polly  is  par- 
ticularly strong  on  Divine  sovereignty.  She  thinks  it  applies  to 
everything  under  the  sun  except  my  affairs.  Those  she  chooses 
to  look  after  herself." 

"  Well,"  said  Major  Broad,  "  I  am  not  much  of  a  theologian. 
I  want  to  be  taught  my  duty.  Parson  Lothrop's  discourses  are 
generally  very  clear  and  practical,  and  they  suit  me." 

"  They  are  good  as  far  as  they  go,"  said  my  grandmother  ; 
"but  I  like  good,  strong,  old-fashioned  doctrine.  I  like  such 
writers  as  Mr.  Edwards  and  Dr.  Bellamy  and  Dr.  Hopkins, 
It 's  all  very  well,  your  essays  on  cheerfulness  and  resignation, 


URE-LIGHT    TALKS   IN    MY    GRANDMOTHER'S   KITCHEN.      75 

and  all  that ;  but  I  want  something  that  takes  strong  hold  of 
you,  so  that  you  feel  something  has  got  you  that  can  hold." 

"  The  Cambridge  Platform,  for  instance,"  said  Uncle  Bill. 

"Yes,  iny  son,  the  Cambridge  Platform.  I  ain't  ashamed 
of  it.  It  was  made  by  men  whose  shoe-latchet  we  are  n't  worthy 
to  unloose.  I  believe  it,  —  every  word  on  't.  I  believe  it,  and 
I  'm  going  to  believe  it." 

"And  would  if  there  was  twice  as  much  of  it,"  said  Uncle 
Bill.  "  That 's  right,  mother,  stand  up  for  your  colors.  I  ad- 
mire your  spirit.  But,  Sam,  what  does  Hepsy  think  of  all  this  ? 
I  suppose  you  enlighten  her  when  you  return  from  your  investi- 
gations." 

"  Wai,  I  try  to.  But  lordy  massy,  Mr.  Badger,  Hepsy  don't 
take  no  kind  o'  interest  in  the  doctrines,  no  more  'n  nothin'  at 
all.  She's  so  kind  o'  worldly,  Hepsy  is.  It's  allers  meat  and 
drink,  meat  and  drink,  with  her.  That 's  all  she  's  thinkin'  of." 

"  And  if  you  would  think  more  of  such  things,  she  would  n't 
have  to  think  so  much,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  sharply.  "  Don't  you 
know  the  Bible  says,  that  the  man  that  provideth  not  for  his  own 
household  hath  denied  the  faith,  and  is  worse  than  an  infidel  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  Sam,  slowly  flopping  his  great  hands  up 
and  down  over  the  blaze,  —  "I  railly  don't  see  why  folks  are 
allers  a  throwin'  up  that  'ere  text  at  me.  I  'm  sure  I  work  as  hard 
as  a  man  ken.  Why,  I  was  a  workin'  last  night  till  nigh  twelve 
o'clock,  doin'  up  odd  jobs  o'  blacksmithin'.  They  kind  o'  'cumu- 
late, ye  know." 

"  Mr.  Lawson,"  said  my  grandmother,  with  a  look  of  long-suf- 
fering patience,  "  how  often  and  often  must  I  tell  you,  that  if 
you  'd  be  'steadier  round  your  home,  and  work  in  regular  hours, 
Hepsy  would  be  more  comfortable,  and  things  would  go  on 
better  ? " 

"  Lordy  massy,  Mis'  Badger,  bless  your  soul  and  body,  ye  don't 
know  nothin'  about  it ;  - —  ye  don't  know  nothin'  what  I  undergo. 
Hepsy,  she 's  at  me  from  morning  till  night.  First  it 's  one  thing, 
and  then  another.  One  day  it  rains,  and  her  clothes-line  breaks. 
She  's  at  me  'bout  that.  Now  I  tell  her,  '  Hepsy,  I  ain't  to  blame, 
—  I  don't  make  the  rain.'  And  then  another  day  she  's  at  me  agin 


76  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

'cause  the  wind  ;s  east,  and  fetches  the  smoke  down  chimbley. 
I  tell  her,  '  Hepsy,  now  look  here,  —  do  I  make  the  wind  blow  ? ' 
But  it 's  no  use  talkin'  to  Hepsy." 

"  Well,  Sam,  I  take  your  part,"  said  Bill.  "  I  always  knew 
you  was  a  regular  martyr.  Come,  boys,  go  down  cellar  and 
draw  a  pitcher  of  cider.  We  '11  stay  him  with  flagons,  and  com- 
fort him  with  apples.  Won't  we,  Sam  ?  " 

As  Sam  was  prime  favorite  with  all  boys,  my  brother  Bill  and 
I  started  willingly  enough  on  this  errand,  one  carrying  the  candle 
and  the  other  a  great  stone  pitcher  of  bountiful  proportions, 
which  always  did  hospitable  duty  on  similar  occasions. 

Just  as  we  returned,  bearing  our  pitcher,  there  came  another 
rap  at  the  outside  door  of  the  kitchen,  and  Old  Betty  Poganut 
and  Sally  Wonsamug  stood  at  the  door. 

'•'Well,  now,  Mis'  Badger,"  said  Betty,  "Sally  and  me,  we 
thought  we  must  jest  run  in,  we  got  so  scar't.  We  was  coming 
through  that  Bill  Morse's  woods,  and  there  come  such  a  flash  o' 
lightnin'  it  most  blinded  us,  and  the  wind  blew  enough  to  blow 
a  body  over ;  and  we  thought  there  was  a  storm  right  down  on 
us,  and  we  run  jest  as  fast  as  we  could.  We  did  n't  know  what 
to  do,  we  was  so  scar't.  I  'm  mortal  'fraid  of  lightning." 

"Why,  Betty,  you  forgot  the  sermon  to-day.  You  should 
have  said  your  prayers,  as  Parson  Lothrop  tells  you,"  said  my 
grandfather. 

"  Well,  I  did  kind  o'  put  up  a  sort  o'  silent  'jaculation,  as  a 
body  may  sa}\  That  is,  I  jest  said,  '  0  Lord,'  and  kind  o'  gin 
him  a  wink,  you  know." 

"  O,  you  did  ?  "  said  my  grandfather. 

"  Yes,  I  kind  o'  thought  He  'd  know  what  I  meant."  • 

My  grandfather  turned  with  a  smile  to  Miss  Mehitable. 
"  These  Indians  have  their  own  wild  ways  of  looking  at  things, 
after  all." 

"  Well,  now,  I  s'pose  you  have  n't  had  a  bit  of  supper,  either 
of  you,"  said  my  grandmother,  getting  up.  "  It 's  commonly  the 
way  of  it." 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  sayin'  to  Sarah  that  if  we  come 
down  to  Mis'  Deacon  Badger's  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  We  got 


FIRE-LIGHT    TALKS   IN   MY    GRANDMOTHER'S   KITCHEN.     77 

something  good,"  said  Betty,  her  broad,  coarse  face  and  baggy 
cheeks  beginning  to  be  illuminated  with  a  smile. 

"  Here,  Horace,  you  come  and  hold  the  candle  while  I  go  into 
the  buttery  and  get  'cm  some  cold  pork  and  beans,"  said  my 
grandmother,  cheerily.  "  The  poor  creturs  don't  get  a  good  meal 
of  victuals  very  often ;  and  I  baked  a  good  lot  on  purpose." 

If  John  Bunyan  had  known  my  grandmother,  he  certainly 
would  have  introduced  her  in  some  of  his  histories  as  "the  house- 
keeper whose  name  was  Bountiful";  and  under  her  care  an 
ample  meal  of  brown  bread  and  pork  and  beans  was  soon  set 
forth  on  the  table  in  the  corner  of  the  kitchen,  to  which  the  two 
hungry  Indian  women  sat  down  with  the  appetite  of  wolves.  A 
large  mug  was  placed  between  them,  which  Uncle  Bill  filled  to 
the  brim  with  cider. 

"  I  s'pose  you  'd  like  twice  a  mug  better  than  once  a  mug, 
Sally,"  he  said,  punning  on  her  name. 

"  O,  if  the  mug  's  only  big  enough,"  said  Sally,  her  snaky 
eyes  gleaming  with  appetite;  "and  it's  always  a  good  big  mug 
one  gets  here." 

Sam  Lawson's  great  white  eyes  began  irresistibly  to  wander 
in  the  direction  of  the  plentiful  cheer  which  was  being  so  liber- 
ally dispensed  at  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"  Want  some,  Sam,  my  boy  ?  "  said  Uncle  Bill,  with  a  patroniz- 
ing freedom. 

"  Why,  bless  your  soul,  Master  Bill,  I  would  n't  care  a  bit  if  I 
took  a  plate  o'  them  beans  and  some  o'  that  ?ere  pork.  Hepsy 
didn't  save  no  beans  for  me;  and,  walkin'  all  the  way  from 
North  Parish,  I  felt  kind  o'  empty  and  windy,  as  a  body  may 
say.  You  know  Scriptur'  tells  about  bein'  filled  with  the  east 
wind;  but  I  never  found  it  noways  satisfying  —  it  sets  sort  o' 
cold  on  the  stomach." 

"  Draw  up,  Sam,  and  help  yourself,"  said  Uncle  Bill,  putting 
plate  and  knife  and  fork  before  him ;  and  Sam  soon  showed  that 
he  had  a  vast  internal  capacity  for  the  stowing  away  of  beans 
and  brown  bread. 

Meanwhile  Major  Broad  and  my  grandfather  drew  their 
chairs  together,  and  began  a  warm  discussion  of  the  Constitu- 


78  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

tion  of  the  United  States,  which  had  been  recently  presented  for 
acceptance  in  a  Convention  of  the  State  of  Massachusetts. 

"I  have  n't  seen  you,  Major  Broad,"  said  my  grandfather,  "since 
you  came  back  from  the  Convention.  I  'm  very  anxious  to  have 
our  State  of  Massachusetts  accept  that  Constitution.  We  're  in 
an  unsettled  condition  now;  we  don't  know  fairly  where  we  are. 
If  we  accept  this  Constitution,  we  shall  be  a  nation,  —  we  shall 
have  something  to  go  to  work  on." 

"  Well,  Deacon  Badger,  to  say  the  truth,  I  could  not  vote  for 
this  Constitution  in  Convention.  They  have  adopted  it  by  a 
small  majority ;  but  I  shall  be  bound  to  record  my  dissent  from 
it." 

"  Pray,  Major,  what  are  your  objections  ?  "  said  Miss  Mehita- 
ble. 

"  I  have  two.  One  is,  it  gives  too  much  power  to  the  Presi- 
dent. There's  an  appointing  power  and  a  power  of  patronage 
that  will  play  the  mischief  some  day  in  the  hands  of  an  ambitious 
man.  That  's  one  objection.  The  other  is  the  recognizing  and 
encouraging  of  slavery  in  the  Constitution.  That  is  such  a  dread- 
ful wrong,  —  such  a  shameful  inconsistency,  —  when  we  have  just 
come  through  a  battle  for  the  doctrine  that  all  men  are  free  and 
equal,  to  turn  round  and  found  our  national  government  on  a 
recognition  of  African  slavery.  It  cannot  and  will  not  come  to 
good." 

"  O,  well,"  said  my  grandfather,  "  slavery  will  gradually  die 
out.  You  see  how  it  is  going  in  the  New  England  States." 

"  I  cannot  think  so,"  said  the  Major.  "I  have  a  sort  of  feeling 
about  this  that  I  cannot  resist.  If  we  join  those  States  that  still 
mean  to  import  and  use  slaves,  our  nation  will  meet  some  dread- 
ful punishment.  I  am  certain  of  it."  * 

"  Well,  really,"  said  my  grandfather,  «  I  'm  concerned  to  hear 
you  speak  so.  I  have  felt  such  anxiety  to  have  something  settled. 
Yrou  see,  without  a  union  we  are  all  afloat,  —  we  are  separate  logs, 
but  no  raft." 

*  The  dissent  of  Major  Broad  of  Natick,  and  several  others,  on  the  grounds 
above  stated,  may  still  be  read  in  the  report  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Con- 
vention that  ratified  the  Constitution. 


FIRE-LIGHT   TALKS   IN   MY    GRANDMOTHER'S   KITCHEN.      79 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  "  but  nothing  can  be  settled  that 
is  n't  founded  on  right.  We  ought  to  dig  deep,  and  lay  our  foun- 
dations on  a  rock,  when  we  build  for  posterity." 

"  Were  there  many  of  your  way  of  thinking  in  the  Convention, 
Major  ?  "  said  my  grandfather. 

"  Well,  we  had  a  pretty  warm  discussion,  and  we  came  very 
near  to  carrying  it.  Now,  in  Middlesex  County,  for  instance, 
where  we  are,  there  were  only  seventeen  in  favor  of  the  Consti- 
tution, and  twenty-five  against ;  and  in  Worcester  County  there 
were  only  seven  in  favor  and  forty-three  against.  Well,  they 
carried  it  at  last  by  a  majority  of  nineteen ;  but  the  minority 
recorded  their  protest.  Judge  Widgery  of  Portland,  General 
Thompson  of  Topsham,  and  Dr.  Taylor  of  Worcester,  rather 
headed  the  opposition.  Then  the  town  of  Andover  instructed 
its  representative,  Mr.  Symmes,  to  vote  against  it,  but  he  did  n't, 
he  voted  on  the  other  side,  and  I  understand  they  are  dreadfully 
indignant  about  it.  I  saw  a  man  from  Andover  last  week  who 
said  that  he  actually  thought  Symmes  would  be  obliged  to  leave 
the  town,  lie  was  so  dreadfully  unpopular." 

"  Well,  Major  Broad,  I  agree  with  you,"  said  my  grandmother, 
heartily,  "and  I  honor  you  for  the  stand  you -took.  Slavery  is  a 
sin  and  a  shame  ;  and  I  say,  with  Jacob,  *  O  my  soul,  come  not  thou 
into  their  secret^  —  unto  their  assembly,  mine  honor,  be  not  thou 
united.'  I  wish  we  may  keep  clear  on  't.  I  don't  want  anything 
that  we  can't  ask  God's  blessing  on  heartily,  and  we  certainly 
can't  on  this.  Why,  anybody  that  sees  that  great  scar  on  Caesar's 
forehead  sees  what  slavery  comes  to." 

My  grandmother  always  pointed  her  anti-slavery  arguments 
with  an1  appeal  to  this  mark  of  ill-usage  which  old  Caesar  had  re- 
ceived at  the  hands  of  a  brutal  master  years  before,  and  the  ap- 
peal never  failed  to  convince  the  domestic  circle. 

"  Well,"  said  my  grandfather,  after  some  moments  of  silence, 
in  which  he  sat  gazing  fixedly  at  the  great  red  coals  of  a  hickory 
log,  "  you  see,  Major,  it 's  done,  and  can't  be  helped." 

"  It 's  done,"  said  the  Major,  "  but  in  my  opinion  mischief  will 
come  of  it  as  sure  as  there  is  a  God  in  heaven." 

"  Let 's  hope  not,"  said  my  grandfather,  placidly. 


80  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

Outside  the  weather  was  windy  and  foul,  the  wind  rattling  doors, 
shaking  and  rumbling  down  the  chimney,  and  causing  the  great 
glowing  circle  lighted  by  the  fire  to  seem  warmer  and  brighter. 
The  Indian  women  and  Sam  Lawson,  having  finished  their  meal 
and  thoroughly  cleaned  out  the  dishes,  grouped  themselves  about 
the  end  of  the  ingle  already  occupied  by  black  Caesar,  and  began 
a  little  private  gossip  among  themselves. 

"  I  say,"  says  Sam,  raising  his  voice  to  call  my  grandfather's 
attention,  "do  you  know,  Deacon  Badger,  whether  anybody  is 
living  in  the  Dench  house  now  ?  " 

"  There  was  n't,  the  last  I  knew  about  it,"  said  my  grandfather. 

"  Wai,  you  won't  make  some  folks  believe  but  what  that  'ere 
house  is  haunted." 

"Haunted!"  said  Miss  Mehitable ;  "nothing  more  likely.  What 
old  house  is  n't  ?  —  if  one  only  knew  it ;  and  that  certainly  ought 
to  be  if  ever  a  house  was." 

" But  this  'ere  's  a  regular  haunt"  said  Sam.  " I  was  a  talk- 
in'  the  other  night  with  Bill  Payne  and  Jake  Marshall,  and  they 
both  on  'em  said  that  they  'd  seen  strange  things  in  them  grounds, 
—  they  'd  seen  a  figger  of  a  man  — 

"  With  his  head  under  his  arm,"  suggested  Uncle  Bill. 

"  No,  a  man  in  a  long  red  cloak,"  said  Sam  Lawson,  "  such  as 
Sir  Harry  Frankland  used  to  wear." 

"  Poor  Sir  Harry ! "  said  Miss  Mehitable,  "  has  he  come  to 
that?" 

"  Did  you  know  Sir  Harry  ?  "  said  Aunt  Lois. 

"I  have  met  him  once  or  twice  at  the  Governor's  house," 
said  Miss  Mehitable.  "  Lady  Lothrop  knew  Lady  Frankland 
very  well." 

"  Well,  Sam,"  said  Uncle  Bill,  «  do  let 's  hear  the  end  of  this 
haunting." 

"  Nothin',  only  the  other  night  I  was  a  goin'  over  to  watch 
with  Lem  Moss,  and  I  passed  pretty  nigh  the  Dench  place,  and 
I  thought  I  'd  jest  look  round  it  a  spell.  And  as  sure  as  you  're 
alive  I  see  smoke  a  comin'  out  of  the  chimbley." 

"  I  did  n't  know  as  ghosts  ever  used  the  fireplaces,"  said  Uncle 
Bill.  "  Well,  Sam,  did  you  go  in  ?  " 


FIRE-LIGHT    TALKS   IN   MY    GRANDMOTHER'S   KITCHEN.     81 

"No,  I  was  pretty  much  in  a  hurry;  but  I  telled  Jake  and  Bill, 
and  then  they  each  on  'em  had  something  to  match  that  they  'd 
seen.  As  nigh  as  I  can  make  it  out,  there 's  that  'ere  boy  that 
they  say  was  murdered  and  thrown  down  that 'ere  old  well  walks 
sometimes.  And  then  there  "s  a  woman  appears  to  some,  and 
this  'ere "man  in  a  red  cloak;  and  they  think  it's  Sir  Harry  in 
his  red  cloak." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  I  never  had  much  opinion 
of  Sir  Harry  Frankland,  or  Lady  Frankland  either.  I  don't 
think  such  goings  on  ever  ought  to  be  countenanced  in  society." 

"They  both  repented  bitterly,  —  repented  in  sackcloth  and 
ashes,"  said  Miss  Mehitable.  "  And  if  God  forgives  such  sins, 
why  should  n't  we  ?  " 

"  What  was  the  story  ?  "  said  Major  Broad. 

"  Why,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  have  n't  you  heard  of  Agnes  Sur- 
ridge,  of  Marblehead  ?  She  was  housemaid  in  a  tavern  there, 
and  Sir  Harry  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  took  her  and  educated 
her.  That  was  well  enough ;  but  when  she  'd  done  going  to 
school  he  took  her  home  to  his  house  in  Boston,  and  called  her 
his  daughter ;  although  people  became  pretty  sure  that  the  con- 
nection was  not  what  it  should  be,  and  they  refused  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  her.  So  he  bought  this  splendid  place  out  in 
the  woods,  and  built  a  great  palace  of  a  house,  and  took  Miss 
Agnes  out  there.  People  that  wanted  to  be  splendidly  enter- 
tained, and  that  were  not  particular  as  to  morals,  used  to  go 
out  to  visit  them." 

"  I  used  to  hear  great  stories  of  their  wealth  and  pomp  and 
luxury,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  but  I  mourned  over  it,  that  it 
should  come  to  this  in  New  England,  that  people  could  openly 
set  such  an  example  and  be  tolerated.  .  It  would  n't  have  been 
borne  a  generation  before,  I  can  tell  you.  No,  indeed,  —  the 
magistrates  would  have  put  a  stop  to  it.  But  these  noblemen, 
when  they  came  over  to  America,  seemed  to  think  themselves 
lords  of  God's  heritage,  and  free  to  do  just  as  they  pleased." 

"  But,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  "  they  repented,  as  I  said.  He 
took  her  to  England,  and  there  his  friends  refused  to  receive 
her ;  and  then  he  was  appointed  Ambassador  to  Lisbon,  and  he 

4*  p 


82  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

took  her  there.  '  On  the  day  of  the  great  earthquake  Sir  Harry 
was  riding  with  a  lady  of  the  court  when  the  shock  came,  and  in 
a  moment,  without  warning,  they  found  themselves  buried  under 
the  ruins  of  a  building  they  were  passing.  Pie  wore  a  scarlet  . 
cloak,  as  was  the  fashion ;  and  they  say  that  in  her  dying  agonies 
the  poor  creature  bit  through  this  cloak  and  sleeve  into  the  flesh 
of  his  arm,  and  made  a  mark  that  he  carried  to  his  dying  day. 
Sir  Harry  was  saved  by  Agnes  Surridge.  She  came  over  the 
ruins,  calling  and  looking  for  him,  and  he  heard  her  voice  and 
answered,  and  she  got  men  to  come  and  dig  him  out.  When  he 
was  in  that  dreadful  situation,  he  made  a  vow  to  God,  if  he  would 
save  his  life,  that  he  would  be  a  different  man.  And  he  was  a 
changed  man  from  that  day.  He  was  married  to  Agnes  Surridge 
as  soon  as  they  could  get  a  priest  to  perform  the  ceremony ;  and 
when  he  took  her  back  to  England  all  his  relations  received  her, 
and  she  was  presented  in  court  and  moved  in  society  with  perfect 
acceptance." 

"  I  don't  think  it  ever  ought  to  have  been,"  said  Aunt  Lois. 
"  Such  women  never  ought  to  be  received." 

"  What !  is  there  no  place  of  repentance  for  a  woman  ?  "  said 
Miss  Mehitable.  "  Christ  said,  i  Neither  do  I  condemn  thee ;  go 
and  sin  no  more.'  " 

I  noticed  again  that  sort  of  shiver  of  feeling  in  Miss  Mehit- 
able ;  and  there  was  a  peculiar  thrill  in  her  voice,  as  she  said 
these  words,  that  made  me  sensible  that  she  was  speaking  from 
some  inward  depth  of  feeling. 

"  Don't  you  be  so  hard  and  sharp,  Lois,"  said  my  grandmother ; 
"  sinners  must  have  patience  with  sinners." 

"  Especially  with  sinners  of  quality,  Lois,"  said  Uncle  Bill. 
"By  all  accounts  Sir  Harry  and  Lady  Frankland  swept  all 
before  them  when  they  came  back  to  Boston." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Miss  Mehitable ;  "  what  was  done  in  court 
would  be  done  in  Boston,  and  whom  Queen  Charlotte  received 
would  be  received  in  our  upper  circles.  Lady  Lothrop  never 
called  on  her  till  she  was  Lady  Frankland,  but  after  that  I  believe 
she  has  visited  out  at  their  place." 

"  Wai,  I  Ve  heerd  'em  say,"  said  Sam  Lawson,  "  that  it  would 


FIRE-LIGHT   TALKS  IN  MY   GRANDMOTHER'S   KITCHEN.      83 

take  a  woman  two  days  jest  to  get  through  cleaning  the  silver 
that  there  was  in  that 'ere  house,  to  say  nothing  about  the  carpets 
and  the  curtains  and  the  tapestry.  But  then,  when  the  war  broke 
out,  Lady  Frankland,  she  took  most  of  it  back  to  England,  I  guess, 
and  the  house  has  been  back  and  forward  to  one  and  another.  I 
never  could  rightly  know  jest  who  did  live  in  it.  I  heard  about 
some  French  folks  that  lived  there  one  time.  I  thought  some 
day,  when  I  had  n't  nothin'  else  to  do,  I  'd  jest  walk  over  to  old 
Granny  Walker's,  that  lives  over  the  other  side  of  Hopkinton. 
81  ie  used  to  be  a  housekeeper  to  Lady  Frankland,  and  I  could 
get  particulars  out  o'  her." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  "  I  know  one  woman  that  must 
go  back  to  a  haunted  house,  and  that  is  this  present  one."  So 
saying,  she  rose  and  put  me  off  her  knee. 

"  Send  this  little  man  over  to  see  me  to-morrow,"  she  said  to 
my  mother.  "  Polly  has  a  cake  for  him,  and  I  shall  find  some- 
thing to  amuse  him." 

Major  Broad,  with  old-fashioned  gallantry,  insisted  on  waiting 
on  Miss  Mehitable  home ;  and  Sam  Lawson  reluctantly  tore 
himself  from  the  warm  corner  to  encounter  the  asperities  of  his 
own  fireside. 

"  Here,  Sam,"  said  good-natured  Bill,  —  "  here  's  a  great  red 
apple  for  Hepsy." 

"  Ef  I  dares  to  go  nigh  enough  to  give  it  to  her,"  said  Sam, 
with  a  grimace.  "  She  's  allers  a  castin'  it  up  at  me  that  I  don't 
want  to  set  with  her  at  home.  But  lordy  massy,  she  don't  con- 
sider that  a  fellow  don't  want  to  set  and  be  hectored  and  lectured 
when  he  can  do  better  elsewhere." 

"  True  enough,  Sam  ;  but  give  my  regards  to  her." 

As  to  the  two  Indian  women,  they  gave  it  as  their  intention 
to  pass  the  night  by  the  kitchen  fire;  and  my  grandmother,  to 
whom  such  proceedings  were  not  at  all  strange,  assented,  —  pro- 
ducing for  each  a  blanket,  which  had  often  seen  similar  service. 
My  grandfather  closed  the  evening  by  bringing  out  his  great 
Bible  and  reading  a  chapter.  Then  we  all  knelt  down  in 
prayer. 

So  passed  an  evening  in  my  grandmother's  kitchen,  —  whero 


84  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

religion,  theology,  polities,  the  gossip  of  the  day,  and  the  legends 
of  the  supernatural  all  conspired  to  weave  a  fabric  of  thought 
quaint  and  various.  Intense  earnestness,  a  solemn  undertone  of 
deep  mournful  awe,  was  overlaid  with  quaint  traceries  of  humor, 
strange  and  weird  in  their  effect.  I  was  one  of  those  children 
who  are  all  ear,  —  dreamy  listeners,  who  brood  over  all  that 
they  hear,  without  daring  to  speak  of  it ;  and  in  this  evening's 
conversation  I  had  heard  enough  to  keep  my  eyes  broad  open 
long  after  my  mother  had  laid  me  in  bed.  The  haunted  house 
and  its  vague  wonders  filled  my  mind,  and  I  determined  to  ques- 
tion Sam  Lawson  yet  more  about  it. 

But  now  that  I  have  fairly  introduced  myself,  the  scene  of  my 
story,  and  many  of  the  actors  in  it,  I  must  take  my  reader  off 
for  a  while,  and  relate  a  history  that  must  at  last  blend  with 
mine  in  one  story. 


OLD   CRAB   SMITH.  85 


CHAPTER    VII 

OLD    CRAB    SMITH. 

ON  the  brow  of  yonder  hill  you  see  that  old,  red  farm-house, 
with  its  slanting  back  roof  relieved  against  the  golden  sky 
of  the  autumn  afternoon.  The  house  lifts  itself  up  dark  and 
clear  under  the  shadow  of  two  great  elm-trees  that  droop  over  it, 
and  is  the  first  of  a  straggling,  irregular  cluster  of  farm-houses 
that  form  the  village  of  Needmore.  A  group  of  travellers,  sit- 
ting on  a  bit  of  rock  in  the  road  below  the  hill  on  which  the 
farm-house  stands,  are  looking  up  to  it,  in  earnest  conversation. 

"  Mother,  if  you  can  only  get  up  there,  we  '11  ask  them  to  let 
you  go  in  and  rest,"  said  a  little  boy  of  nine  years  to  a  weary, 
pale,  sick-looking  woman  who  sat  as  in  utter  exhaustion  and  dis- 
couragement on  the  rock.  A  little  girl  two  years  younger  than 
the  boy  sat  picking  at  the  moss  at  her  feet,  and  earnestly  listen- 
ing to  her  older  brother  with  the  air  of  one  who  is  attending 
to  the  words  of  a  leader. 

"  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  get  a  step  farther,"  said  the  woman ; 
and  the  increasing  deadly  paleness  of  her  face  confirmed  her 
words.  -• ,/,, 

"  O  mother,  don't  give  up,"  said  the  boy ;  "just  rest  here  a 
little  and  then  lean  on  me,  and  we  '11  get  you  up  the  hill ;  and 
then  I  'm  sure  they  '11  take  you  in.  Come,  now ;  I  '11  run  and 
get  you  some  water  in  our  tin  cup,  and  you  '11  feel  better  soon." 
And  the  boy  ran  to  a  neighboring  brook  and  filled  a  small  tin 
cup,  and  brought  the  cool  water  to  his  mother. 

She  drank  it,  and  then,  fixing  a  pair  of  dark,  pathetic  eyes  on 
the  face  of  her  boy,  she  said  :  "  My  dear  child,  you  have  always 
been  such  a  blessing  to  me !  What  should  I  do  without  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  mother,  now,  if  you  feel  able,  just  rest  on  my  shoulder, 
and  Tina  will  take  the  bundle.  You  take  it,  Tina,  and  we  '11 
find  a  place  to  rest." 


86  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

And  so,  slowly  and  with  difficulty,  the  three  wound  their  way 
up  to  the  grassy  top  of  the  hill  where  stood  the  red  house.  This 
house  belonged  to  a  man  named  Caleb  Smith,  whose  character 
had  caused  the  name  he  bore  to  degenerate  into  another  which 
was  held  to  be  descriptive  of  his  nature,  namely,  "  Crab  "  ;  and  the 
boys  of  the  vicinity  commonly  expressed  the  popular  idea  of  the 
man  by  calling  him  "  Old  Crab  Smith."  His  was  one  of  those 
sour,  cross,  gnarly  natures  that  now  and  then  are  to  be  met  with 
in  New  England,  which,  like  knotty  cider-apples,  present  a  com- 
pound of  hardness,  sourness,  and  bitterness.  It  was  affirmed 
that  a  continual  free  indulgence  in  very  hard  cider  as  a  daily 
beverage  was  one  great  cause  of  this  churlishness  of  temper;  but 
be  that  as  it  may,  there  was  not  a  boy  in  the  village  that  did  not 
know  and  take  account  of  it  in  all  his  estimates  and  calculations, 
as  much  as  of  northeast  storms  and  rainy  weather.  No  child 
ever  willingly  carried  a  message  to  him ;  no  neighbor  but 
dreaded  to  ask  a  favor  of  him  ;  nobody  hoped  to  borrow  or  beg 
of  him ;  nobody  willingly  hired  themselves  out  to  him,  or  did 
him  cheerful  service.  In  short,  he  was  a  petrified  man,  walled 
out  from  all  neighborhood  sympathies,  and  standing  alone  in  his 
crabbedness.  And  it  was  to  this  man's  house  that  the  wandering 
orphan  boy  wras  leading  his  poor  sick  mother. 

The  three  travellers  approached  a  neat  back  porch  on  the 
shady  side  of  the  house,  where  an  old  woman  sat  knitting.  This 
was  Old  Crab  Smith's  wife,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  his  life-long 
bond-slave,  —  the  only  human  being  whom  he  could  so  secure  to 
himself  that  she  should  be  always  at  hand  for  him  to  vent  that 
residue  of  ill-humor  upon  which  the  rest  of  the  world  declined 
to  receive.  Why  half  the  women  in  the  world  marry  the  men 
they  do,  is  a  problem  that  might  puzzle  any  philosopher ;  how 
any  woman  could  marry  Crab  Smith,  was  the  standing  wonder 
of  all  the  neighborhood.  And  yet  Crab's  wife  was  a  modest, 
industrious,  kindly  creature,  who  uncomplainingly  toiled  from 
morning  till  night  to  serve  and  please  him,  and  received  her 
daily  allowance  of  grumbling  and  fault-finding  with  quiet  submis- 
sion. She  tried  all  she  could  to  mediate  between  him  and  the 
many  whom  his  ill-temper  was  constantly  provoking.  She  did 


OLD   CRAB   SMITH.  87 

surreptitious  acts  of  kindness  here  and  there,  to  do  away  the 
effects  of  his  hardness,  and  shrunk  and  quivered  for  fear  of  being 
detected  in  goodness,  as  much  as  many  another  might  for  fear  of 
being  discovered  in  sin.  She  had  been  many  times  a  mother,  — 
had  passed  through  all  the  trials  and  weaknesses  of  maternity 
without  one  tender  act  of  consideration,  one  encouraging  word. 
Her  children  had  grown  up  and  gone  from  her,  always  eager  to 
leave  the  bleak,  ungenial  home,  and  go  out  to  shift  for  themselves 
in  the  world,  and  now,  in  old  age,  she  was  still  working.  Worn 
to  a  shadow,  —  little,  old,  wrinkled,  bowed,  —  she  was  still  about 
the  daily  round  of  toil,  and  still  the  patient  recipient  of  the  mur- 
murs and  chidings  of  her  tyrant. 

"  My  mother  is  so  sick  she  can't  get  any  farther,"  said  a  little 
voice  from  under  the  veranda  ;  "  won't  you  let  her  come  in  and 
lie  down  awhile  ?  " 

"  Massy,  child,"  said  the  little  old  woman,  coming  forward  with 
a  trembling,  uncertain  step.  "  Well,  she  does  look  beat  eout,  to 
be  sure.  Come  up  and  rest  ye  a  bit." 

"  If  you  '11  only  let  me  lie  down  awhile  and  rest  me,"  said  a 
faint,  sweet  voice. 

"  Come  up  here,"  said  the  old  woman,  standing  quivering  like 
a  gray  shadow  on  the  top  doorstep ;  and,  shading  her  wrinkled 
forehead  with  her  hand,  she  looked  with  a  glance  of  habitual  ap- 
prehension along  the  road  where  the  familiar  cart  and  oxen  of  her 
tyrant  might  be  expected  soon  to  appear  on  their  homeward  way, 
and  rejoiced  in  her  little  old  heart  that  he  was  safe  out  of  sight. 
"  Yes,  come  in,"  she  said,  opening  the  door  of  a  small  ground- 
floor  bedroom  that  adjoined  the  apartment  known  in  New  Eng- 
land houses  as  the  sink-room,  and  showing  them  a  plain  bed. 

The  worn  and  wasted  stranger  sunk  down  on  it,  and,  as  she 
sunk,  her  whole  remaining  strength  seemed  to  collapse,  and  some- 
thing white  and  deathly  fell,  as  if  it  had  been  a  shadow,  over  her 
ikce. 

"  Massy  to  us !  she  's  fainted  clean  away,"  said  the  poor  old 
woman,  quiveringly.  "  I  must  jest  run  for  the  camphire." 

The  little  boy  seemed  to  have  that  unchildlike  judgment  and 
presence  of  mind  that  are  the  precocious  development  of  want 


88  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

and  sorrow.  He  ran  to  a  water-pail,  and,  dipping  his  small  tin 
cup,  he  dashed  the  water  in  his  mother's  face,  and  fanned  her  with 
his  little  torn  straw  hat.  When  the  old  woman  returned,  the 
invalid  was  breathing  again,  and  able  to  take  a  few  swallows  of 
camphor  and  water  which  had  been  mixed  for  her. 

"  Sonny,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  you  are  a  nice  little  nurse,  — 
a  good  boy.  You  jest  take  care  now ;  and  here's  a  turkey-feather 
fan  to  fan  her  with ;  and  I  '11  get  on  the  kettle  to  make  her  a  cup 
of  tea.  We  '11  bring  her  round  with  a  little  nursing.  Been 
walking  a  long  way,  I  calculate  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy,  "  she  was  trying  to  get  to  Boston." 

"  What,  going  afoot  ?  " 

"  We  did  n't  mind  walking,  the  weather  is  so  pleasant,"  said  the 
boy ;  "  and  Tina  and  I  like  walking ;  but  mother  got  sick  a  day 
or  two  ago,  and  ever  since  she  has  been  so  tired ! " 

"  Jes'  so,"  said  the  old  woman,  looking  compassionately  on  the 
bed.  "  Well,  I  '11  make  up  the  fire  and  get  her  some  tea." 

The  fire  was  soon  smoking  in  the  great,  old-fashioned  kitchen 
chimney,  for  the  neat,  labor-saving  cook-stove  had  as  yet  no  being; 
and  the  thin,  blue  smoke,  curling  up  in  the  rosy  sunset  air,  re- 
ceived prismatic  coloring  which  a  painter  would  have  seized  with 
enthusiasm. 

Far  otherwise,  however,  was  its  effect  on  the  eye  of  Old  Crab 
Smith,  as,  coming  up  the  hill,  his  eye  detected  the  luminous  vapor 
going  up  from  his  own  particular  chimney. 

"  So,  burning  out  wood,  —  always  burning  out  wood.  I  told 
her  that  I  would  n't  have  tea  got  at  night.  These  old  women 
are  crazy  and  bewitched  after  tea,  and  they  don't  care  if  they 
burn  up  your  tables  and  chairs  to  help  their  messes.  Why  a 
plague  can't  she  eat  cold  pork  and  potatoes  as  well  as  I,  and 
drink  her  mug  of  cider?  but  must  go  to  getting  up  her  fire  and 
biling  her  kettle.  I  '11  see  to  that.  Halloa  there,"  he  said,  as 
he  stamped  up  on  to  the  porch,  "what  the  devil  you  up  to 
now  ?  I  s'pose  you  think  I  hain't  got  nothing  else  to  do  but  split 
up  wood  for  you  to  burn  out." 

"  Father,  it 's  nothing  but  a  little  brush  and  a  few  chips,  jest  to 
bile  the  kettle." 


OLD   CRAB   SMITH.  89 

"  Bile  the  kettle,  bile  the  kettle  !  Jest  like  yer  lazy,  shif 'less 
ways.  What  must  you  be  a  bilin'  the  kettle  for?  " 

"  Father,  I  jest  want  to  make  a  little  tea  for  a  sick  woman." 

"  A  sick  woman  !     What  sick  woman  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  poor  sick  woman  came  along  this  afternoon  with 
two  little  children." 

"  Wai,  I  s'pose  you  took  'em  in.  I  s'pose  you  think  we  keep 
the  poor-house,  and  that  all  the  trampers  belong  to  us.  We  shall 
have  to  go  to  the  poor-house  ourselves  before  long,  I  tell  ye. 
But  you  never  believe  anything  I  say.  Why  could  n't  you  V 
sent  her  to  the  selectmen  ?  I  don't  know  why  I  must  keep  beg- 
gars' tavern." 

"  Father,  father,  don't  speak  so  loud.  The  poor  critter  wa'  n't 
able  to  stir  another  step,  and  fainted  dead  away,  and  we  had  to 
get  her  on  to  a  bed." 

"  And  we  shall  have  her  and  her  two  brats  through  a  fit  o£ 
sickness.  That 's  just  like  you.  Wai,  we  shall  all  go  to  the 
poor-house  together  before  long,  and  then  you  '11  believe  what  I 
say,  won't  ye  ?  But  I  won't  have  it  so.  She  may  stay  to-night, 
but  to-morrow  morning  I  '11  cart  her  over  to  Joe  Scran's,  bright 
and  early,  brats  and  all." 

There  was  within  hearing  of  this  conversation  a  listener  whose 
heart  was  dying  within  her,  —  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  at 
every  syllable,  —  a  few  words  will  explain  why. 

A  younger  son  of  a  family  belonging  to  the  English  gentry  had 
come  over  to  America  as  a  commissioned  officer  near  the  close 
of  the  Revolutionary  war.  lie  had  persuaded  to  a  private  mar- 
riage the  daughter  of  a  poor  country  curate,  a  beautiful  young 
girl,  whom  he  induced  to  elope  with  him,  and  share  the  for- 
tunes of  an  officer's  life  in  America.  Her  parents  died  soon 
after ;  her  husband  proved  a  worthless,  drunken,  dissipated  fel- 
low ;  and  this  poor  woman  had  been  through  all  the  nameless 
humiliations  and  agonies  which  beset  helpless  womanhood  in  the 
sole  power  of  such  a  man.  Submissive,  gentle,  trusting,  pray- 
ing, entreating,  hoping  against  hope,  she  had  borne  with  him 
many  vicissitudes  and  reverses,  —  always  believing  that  at  last 
the  love  of  his  children,  if  not  of  her,  would  awaken  a  better 


90  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

nature  within  him.  But  the  man  steadily  went  downward  in- 
stead of  upward,  and  the  better  part  of  him  by  slow  degrees 
died  away,  till  he  came' to  regard  his  wife  and  children  only  as  so 
many  clogs  on  his  life,  and  to  meditate  night  and  day  on  a  scheme 
to  abandon  them,  and  return,  without  their  encumbrance,  to  his 
own  country.  It  was  with  a  distant  outlook  to  some  such  result 
that  he  had  from  the  first  kept  their  marriage  an  entire  secret 
from  his  own  friends.  When  the  English  army,  at  the  close  of  the 
war,  re-embarked  for  England,  he  carried  his  cowardly  scheme 
into  execution.  He  had  boarded  his  wife  and  children  for  a  sea- 
son in  a  country  farm-house  in  the  vicinity  of  Boston,  with  the 
excuse  of  cheapness  of  lodgings.  Then  one  day  his  wife  re- 
ceived a  letter  enclosing  a  sum  of  money,  and  saying,  in  such 
terms  as  bad  men  can  find  to  veil  devilish  deeds,  that  all  was 
over  between  them,  and  that  ere  she  got  this  he  should  be  on  the 
ocean.  The  sorest  hurt  of  all  was  that  the  letter  denied  the 
validity  of  their  marriage ;  and  the  poor  child  found,  to  her  con- 
sternation, that  the  marriage  certificate,  which  she  had  always 
kept  among  her  papers,  was  gone  with  her  husband. 

The  first  result  of  this  letter  had  been  a  fit  of  sickness,  where- 
in her  little  stock  of  money  had  melted  almost  away,  and  then 
she  had  risen  from  her  bed  determined  to  find  her  way  to  Bos- 
ton, and  learn,  if  possible,  from  certain  persons  with  whom  he 
had  lodged  before  his  departure,  his  address  in  England,  that 
she  might  make  one  more  appeal  to  him.  But  before  she  had 
walked  far  the  sickness  returned  upon  her,  till,  dizzy  and  faint, 
she  had  lain  down,  as  we  have  described,  on  the  bed  of  charity. 

She  had  thought,  ever  since  she  received  that  letter,  that  she 
had  reached  the  bottom  of  desolation,  —  that  nothing  could  be 
added  to  her  misery;  but  the  withering,  harsh  sounds  which 
reached  her  ear  revealed  a  lower  deep  in  the  lowest  depths. 
Hitherto  on  her  short  travels  she  had  met  only  that  kindly  coun- 
try hospitality  which  New  England,  from  one  end  to  the  other, 
always  has  shown  to  the  stranger.  No  one  had  refused  a  good 
meal  of  brown  bread  alid  rich.rnilk  to  her  and  her  children,  and 
more  often  the  friendly  housewife,  moved  by  her  delicate  ap- 
pearance, had  unlocked  the  sanctum  where  was  deposited  her 


OLD    CRAB    SMITH,  91 

precious  tea-caddy,  and  brewed  an  amber  cup  of  tea  to  sustain 
the  sickly-looking  wanderer.  She  and  her  children  had  been 
carried  here  and  there,  as  occasion  offered,  a  friendly  mile  or 
two,  when  Noah  or  Job  or  Sol  "  hitched  up  the  critter "  to  go 
to  mill  or  country  store,  The  voice  of  harsh,  pitiless  rejection 
smote  on  her  ear  for  the  first  time,  and  it  seemed  to  her  the 
drop  too  much  in  her  cup.  She  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and 
said,  "  0  my  God,  I  cannot  bear  this !  I  cannot,'  I  cannot ! " 
She  would  have  said,  "Let  me  die,"  but  that  she  was  tied  to  life 
by  the  two  helpless,  innocent  ones  who  shared  her  misery.  The 
poorest  and  most  desolate  mother  feels  that  her  little  children 
are  poorer  and  more  desolate  than  she ;  and,  however  much  her 
broken  spirit  may  long  for  the  rest  of  Paradise,  she  is  held  back 
by  the  thought  that  to  abide  in  the  flesh  is  needful  to  them.  Even 
in  her  uttermost  destitution  the  approaching  shadow  of  the  dark 
valley  was  a  terror  to  the  poor  soul,  —  not  for  her  own  sake,  but 
for  theirs.  The  idea  of  a  harsh,  unpitiful  world  arose  before 
her  for  the  first  time,  and  the  thought  of  leaving  her  little  ones 
in  it  unprotected  was  an  anguish  which  rent  her  heart. 

The  little  girl,  over-weary,  had  eaten  her  supper  and  fallen 
asleep  beside  her,  with  the  trusting,  ignorant  rest  of  early  child- 
hood ;  but  her  boy  sat  by  her  bedside  with  that  look  of  preco- 
cious responsibility,  that  air  of  anxious  thought,  which  seems 
unnatural  in  early  childhood,  and  contrasted  painfully  with  the 
slight  childish  figure,  the  little  hands,  and  little  voice.  He  was, 
as  we  have  said,  but  nine  years  of  age,  well  grown  for  his  years, 
but  with  that  style  of  growth  which  indicates  delicacy  of  fibre 
rather  than  strength  of  organization.  His  finely  formed  head, 
with  its  clustering  curls  of  yellow  hair,  his  large,  clear  blue  eyes, 
his  exquisitely  delicate  skin,  and  the  sensitiveness  betrayed  by 
his  quivering  lip?,  spoke  of  a  lineage  of  gentle  blood,  and  an 
organization  fitted  rather  to  aesthetic  and  intellectual  develop- 
ment than  to  sturdy  material  toil.  The  little  girl,  as  she  lay 
sleeping,  was  a  beautiful  picture.  Her  head  was  a  wilderness  of 
curls  of  a  golden  auburn,  and  th^  defined  pencilling  of  the  eye- 
brows, and  the  long  silken  veil  of  the  lashes  that  fell  over  the 
sleeping  eyes,  the  delicate  polished  skin,  and  the  finely  moulded 


92  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

limbs,  all  indicated  that  she  was  one  who  ought  to  have  been 
among  the  jewels,  rather  than  among  the  potsherds  of  this  mor- 
tal life.  And  these  were  the  children  that  she  was  going  to  leave 
alone,  without  a  single  friend  and  protector  in  this  world.  For 
there  are  intuitions  that  come  to  the  sick  and  dying  which  tell 
them  when  the  end  is  near;  and  as  this  wanderer  sunk  down 
upon  her  bed  this  night,  there  had  fallen  upon  her  mind  a  perfect 
certainty  that  she  should  never  be  carried  thence  till  carried  to 
the  grave  ;  and  it  was  this  which  had  given  her  soul  so  deadly  a 
wrench,  and  caused  her  to  cry  out  in  such  utter  agony. 

What  happens  to  desolate  souls,  who,  thus  forsaken  by  all  the 
world,  cry  out  to  God,  is  a  mystery,  good  brother  and  sister,  which 
you  can  never  fathom  until  you  have  been  exactly  where  they 
are.  But  certain  it  is  that  there  is  a  very  near  way  to  God's 
heart,  and  so  to  the  great  heart  of  all  comfort,  that  sometimes 
opens  like  a  shaft  of  light  between  heaven  and  the  soul,  in  hours 
when  everything  earthly  falls  away  from  us.  A  quaint  old 
writer  has  said,  "  God  keeps  his  choicest  cordials  for  the  time 
of  our  deepest  faintings."  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that,  as  this 
poor  woman  closed  her  eyes  and  prayed  earnestly,  there  fell  a 
strange  clearness  into  her  soul,  which  calmed  every  fear,  and 
hushed  the  voice  of  every  passion,  and  she  lay  for  a  season  as 
if  entranced.  Words  of  holy  writ,  heard  years  ago  in  church- 
readings,  in  the  hours  of  unconscious  girlhood,  now  seemed  to 
come  back,  borne  in  with  a  living  power  on  her  soul.  It  seemed 
almost  as  if  a  voice  within  was  saying  to  her :  "  The  Lord  hath 
called  thee  as  a  woman  forsaken  and  grieved  in  spirit,  and  a 
wife  of  youth,  when  thou  wast  refused,  saith  thy  God.  For  a 
small  moment  have  I  forsaken  thee,  but  with  great  mercies  will 
I  gather  thee.  .In  a  little  wrath  I  hid  my  face  from  thee  for  a 
moment,  but  with  everlasting  kindness  will  I  have  mercy  on 
thee,  saith  the  Lord  thy  Redeemer.  O  thou  afflicted,  tossed 
with  tempest,  and  not  comforted,  behold,  I  will  lay  thy  stones 
with  fair  colors,  and  thy  foundations  with  sapphires.  And  all 
thy  children  shall  be  taught  of  the  Lord,  and  great  shall  be  the 
peace  of  thy  children." 

It  is  fashionable  now  to  speak  of  words  like  these  as  fragments 


OLD   CKAB   SMITH.  9o 

of  ancient  Hebrew  literature,  interesting  and  curious  indeed,  but 
relating  to  scenes,  events,  and  states  of  society  long  gone  by. 
But  it  is  a  most  remarkable  property  of  this  old  Hebrew  litera- 
ture, that  it  seems  to  be  enchanted  with  a  divine  and  living 
power,  which  strikes  the  nerve  of  individual  consciousness  in 
every  desolate  and  suffering  soul.  It  may  have  been  Judah  or 
Jerusalem  ages  ago  to  whom  these  words  first  came,  but  as  they 
have  travelled  down  for  thousands  of  years,  they  have  seemed 
to  tens  of  thousands  of  sinking  and  desolate  souls  as  the  voice 
of  God  to  them  individually.  They  have  raised  the  burden 
from  thousands  of  crushed  spirits ;  they  have  been  as  the  day- 
spring  to  thousands  of  perplexed  wanderers.  Ah !  let  us  treas- 
ure these  old  words,  for  as  of  old  Jehovah  chose  to  dwell  in  a 
tabernacle  in  the  wilderness,  and  between  the  cherubim  in  the 
temple,  so  now  he  dwells  in  them ;  and  to  the  simple  soul  that 
seeks  for  him  here  he  will  look  forth  as  of  old  from  the  pillar  of 
cloud  and  of  fire. 

The  poor,  ill-used,  forsaken,  forgotten  creature  who  lay  there 
trembling  on  the  verge  of  life  felt  the  presence  of  that  mighty 
and  generous,  that  godlike  spirit  that  inspired  these  words. 
And  surely  if  Jehovah  ever  did  speak  to  man,  no  words  were 
ever  more  worthy  of  Him.  She  lay  as  in  a  blessed  trance,  as 
passage  after  passage  from  the  Scriptures  rolled  over  her  mind, 
like  bright  waves  from  the  ocean  of  eternal  peace. 

"  Fear  thou  not,  for  I  am  with  thee ;  be  not  dismayed,  for  I  am 
thy  God.  When  thou  passest  through  the  waters  I  will.be  with 
thee,  and  through  the  rivers,  they  shall  not  overflow  thee.  When 
thou  walkest  through  the  fire,  thou  shalt  not  be  burned,  neither 
shall  the  flame  kindle  upon  thee  ;  for  I  am  the  Lord  thy  God,  the 
Holy  One  of  Israel,  thy  Saviour." 

The  little  boy,  who  had  heard  his  mother's  first  distressful  cry, 
sat  by  her  anxiously  watching  the  changes  of  her  face  as  she 
lay  there.  He  saw  her  brow  gradually  grow  clear  and  calm,  and 
every  line  of  trouble  fade  from  her  face,  as  shadows  and  clouds 
roll  up  from  the  landscape  at  day -dawn,  till  at  last  there  was  a 
rapt,  peaceful  expression,  an  evenness  of  breathing,  as  if  she 
slept,  and  were  dreaming  some  heavenly  dream.  It  lasted  for 


94  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

more  than  an  hour,  and  the  child  sat  watching  her  with  the  old, 
grave,  tender  look  which  had  come  to  be  the  fashion  of  his  little 
face  when  he  looked  upon  his  mother. 

This  boy  had  come  to  this  mother  as  a  second  harvest  of  heart, 
hope,  and  joy,  after  the  first  great  love  and  hope  of  womanhood 
had  vanished.  She  felt  herself  broken-hearted,  lonely,  and  un- 
loved, when  her  first-born  son  was  put  into  her  arms,  and  she 
received  him  as  did  the  first  mother,  saying,  "  I  have  gotten  a 
man  from  the  Lord."  To  him  her  desolate  heart  had  unfolded 
its  burden  of  confidence  from  the  first  dawning  hours  of  intelli- 
gence. His  tiny  faculties  had  been  widened  to  make  room  for 
her  sorrows,  and  his  childish  strength  increased  by  her  leaning. 
There  had  been  hours  when  this  boy  had  stood  between  the 
maniac  rage  of  a  drunken  father  and  the  cowering  form  of  his 
mother,  with  an  unchildlike  courage  and  steadiness  that  seemed 
almost  like  an  inspiration.  In  days  of  desertion  and  poverty  he 
had  gone  out  with  their  slender  stock  of  money  and  made  bar- 
gains such  as  it  is  pitiful  to  think  that  a  little  child  should  know 
•how  to  make ;  and  often,  in  moments  when  his  mother's  heart 
was  overwhelmed,  he  would  come  to  her  side  with  the  little  pray- 
ers and  hymns  which  she  had  taught  him,  and  revive  her  faith 
and  courage  when  it  seemed  entirely  gone. 

Now,  as  he  thought  her  sleeping,  he  began  with  anxious  care 
to  draw  the  coverlet  over  her,  and  to  move  his  little  sister  back 
upon  the  bed.  She  opened  her  eyes,  —  large,  clear  blue  eyes, 
the  very  mirror  of  his  own,  —  and,  smiling  with  a  strange  sweet- 
ness, stretched  out  her  hand  and  drew  him  towards  her.  "  Harry, 
my  dear  good  boy,  my  dear,  dear  child,  nobody  knows  what  a 
comfort  you  have  been  to  me." 

Then  holding  him  from  her,  and  looking  intently  in  his  eyes, 
she  seemed  to  hesitate  for  words  to  tell  him  something  that  lay 
on  her  mind.  At  last  she  said,  "  Harry,  say  your  prayers  and 
psalms." 

The  child  knelt  by  the  bed,  with  his  hands  clasped  in  his 
mother's,  and  said  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  then,  standing  up,  re- 
peated the  beautiful  psalm  beginning,  "  The  Lord  is  my  shep- 
herd." Then  followed  a  hymn,  which  the  Methodists  had  made 
familiar  in  those  times :  — 


OLD    G1JA15    SMITH.  95 

"  One  there  is  above  all  others 

Well  deserves  the  name  of  Friend ; 
His  is  love  beyond  a  brother's, 
Costly,  free,  and  knows  no  end. 

"  Which  of  all  our  friends,  to  save  us, 

Could  or  would  have  shed  his  blood  ? 
But  this  Saviour  died  to  have  us 
Reconciled  in  him  to  God. 

"  When  he  lived  on  earth  abased, 
'  Friend  of  Sinners  was  his  name ; 
Now,  above  all  glory  raised, 
He  rejoiceth  in  the  same. 

"  0  for  grace  our  hearts  to  soften ! 

Teach  us,  Lord,  at  length  to  love; 
We,  alas !  forget  too  often 
What  a  friend  we  have  above." 

"  Harry,"  said  his  mother,  looking  at  him  with  an  intense 
earnestness,  "  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  God,  our  Father,  has 
called  me  to  come  home  to  him ;  and  I  am  going.  In  a  little 
while  —  perhaps  to-morrow  —  I  shall  be  gone,  and  you  cannot 
find  me.  My  soul  will  go  to  God,  and  they  will  put  my  body  in 
the  ground ;  and  then  you  will  have  no  friend  but  Jesus,  and  no 
father  but  the  Father  in  heaven." 

The  child  looked  at  her  with  solemn,  dilated  gaze,  not  really 
comprehending  the  full  mystery  of  that  which  she  was  trying 
to  explain ;  yet  the  tears  starting  in  his  eyes,  and  the  twitching 
of  the  muscles  of  his  mouth,  showed  that  he  partly  understood. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  will  papa  never  come  back  ?  " 

"  No,  Harry,  never.  Pie  has  left  us  and  gone  away.  He  does 
not  love  us,  —  nobody  loves  us  but  our  Father  in  heaven;  but 
He  does.  You  must  always  believe  this.  Now,  Harry,  I  am 
going  to  leave  your  little  sister  to  your  care.  You  must  always 
keep  with  her  and  take  care  of  her,  for  she  is  a  very  little  girl." 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  This  is  a  great  charge  for  a  little  boy  like  you  ;  but  you  will 
live  and  grow,  up  to  be  a  man.  and  I  want  you  never,  as  long  as 
you  live,  to  forget  what  I  say  to  you  now.  Promise  me,  Harry, 
all  your  life  to  say  these  prayers  and  hymns  that  you  have  just 


96  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

been  Baying,  every  morning  and  every  night.  They  are  all  I 
have  to  leave  you ;  but  if  you  only  believe  them,  you  will  never 
be  without  comfort,  no  matter  what  happens  to  you.  Promise 
me,  dear." 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  will." 

"  And,  Harry,  no  matter  what  happens,  never  doubt  that  God 
loves  you,  —  never  forget  that  you  have  a  Friend  in  heaven. 
Whenever  you  have  a  trouble,  just  pray  to  Him,  and  He  will 
help  you.  Promise  this." 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  Now  lie  down  by  me ;  I  am  very,  very  tired." 

The  little  boy  lay  down  by  his  mother ;  she  threw  her  arms 
around  him,  and  both  sunk  to  sleep. 


MISS  ASPHYXIA.  97 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

MISS    ASPHYXIA. 

•'  fTHHERE  won't  be  no  great  profit  in  this  'ere  these  ten 

J-    year." 

The  object  denominated  "this  'ere"  was  the  golden-haired 
child  whom  we  have  spoken  of  before,  —  the  little  girl  whose 
mother  lay  dying.  That  mother  is  dead  now ;  and  the  thing  to 
be  settled  is,  What  is  to  be  done  with  the  children  ?  The  morn- 
ing after  the  scene  we  have  described  looked  in  at  the  window 
and  saw  the  woman,  with  a  pale,  placid  face,  sleeping  as  one  who 
has  found  eternal  rest,  and  the  two  weeping  children  striving  in 
vain  to  make  her  hear. 

Old  Crab  had  been  up  early  in  his  design  of  "  carting  the  'hull 
lot  over  to  the  poor-house,"  but  made  a  solemn  pause  when  his 
wife  drew  him  into  the  little*  chamber.  Death  has  a  strange  dig- 
nity, and  whatsoever  child  of  Adam  he  lays  his  hand  on  is  for  the 
time  ennobled,  —  removed  from  the  region  of  the  earthly  and 
commonplace  to  that  of  the  spiritual  and  mysterious.  And 
when  Crab  found,  by  searching  the  little  bundle  of  the  deceased, 
that  there  was  actually  money  enough  in  it  to  buy  a  coffin  and 
pay  'Zekiel  Stebbins  for  digging  the  grave,  he  began  to  look 
on  the  woman  as  having  made  a  respectable  and  edifying  end, 
and  the  whole  affair  as  coming  to  a  better  issue  than  he  had 
feared. 

And  so  the  event  was  considered  in  the  neighborhood,  in  a 
melancholy  way,  rather  an  interesting  and  auspicious  one.  It 
gave  something  to  talk  about  in  a  region  where  exciting  topics 
were  remarkably  scarce.  The  Reverend  «Jabez  Periwinkle 
found  in  it  a  moving  Providence  which  started  him  favorably  on 
a  sermon,  and  the  funeral  had  been  quite  a  windfall  to  all  the 
gossips  aboi*t ;  and  now  remained  the  question,  "What  was  to  b$ 
done  with  the  children  ? 

5  o 


98  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

"  Now  that  we  'are  diggin'  the  'taters,"  said  old  Crab, "  that  'ere 
chap  might  be  good  for  suthin',  pickin'  on  'em  out  o'  the  hills. 
Poor  folks  like  us  can't  afford  to  keep  nobody  jest  to  look  at,  and 
so  he  '11  have  to  step  spry  and  work  smart  to  aim  his  keep."  And 
so  at  early  dawn,  the  day  after  the  funeral,  the  little  boy  was 
roused  up  and  carried  into  the  fields  with  the  men. 

But  "this  'ere"  —  that  is  to  say,  a  beautiful  little  girl  of  seven 
years  —  had  greatly  puzzled  the  heads  of  the  worthy  gossips  of 
the  neighborhood.  Miss  Asphyxia  Smith,  the  elder  sister  of  old 
Crab,  was  at  this  moment  turning  the  child  round,  and  examining 
her  through  a  pair  of  large  horn  spectacles,  with  a  view  to  "  tak- 
ing her  to  raise,"  as  she  phrased  it. 

Now  all  Miss  Asphyxia's  ideas  of  the  purpose  and  aim  of  hu- 
man existence  were  comprised  in  one  word,  —  work.  She  was 
herself  a  working  machine,  always  wound  up  and  going,  —  up  at 
early  cock-crowing,  and  busy  till  bedtime,  with  a  rampant  and 
fatiguing  industry  that  never  paused  for  a  moment.  She  con- 
ducted a  large  farm  by  the  aid  of  a  hired  man,  and  drove  a  flour- 
ishing dairy,  and  was  universally  respected  in  the  neighborhood 
as  a  smart  woman. 

Latterly,  as  her  young  cousin,  who  had  shared  the  toils  of  the 
house  with  her,  had  married  and  left  her,  Miss  Asphyxia  had 
talked  of  "  takin'  a  child  from  the  poor-house,  and  so  raisin'  her 
own  help  "  ;  and  it  was  with  the  view  of  this  "  raisin'  'her  help," 
that  she  was  thus  turning  over  and  inspecting  the  little  article 
which  we  have  spoken  of. 

Apparently  she  was  somewhat  puzzled,  and  rather  scandalized, 
that  Nature  should  evidently  have  expended  so  much  in  a  merely 
ornamental  way  on  an  article  which  ought  to  have  been  made 
simply  for  service.  She  brushed  up  a  handful  of  the  clustering 
curls  in  her  large,  bony  hand,  and  said,  with  a  sniff,  "  These  '11 
have  to  come  right  off  to  begin  with ;  gracious  me,  what  a  tan- 
gle!" 

"  Mother  always  brushed  them  out  every  day,"  said  the  child. 

"  And  who  do  you  suppose  is  going  to  spend  an  hour  every  day 
Brushing  your  hair,  Miss  Pert?"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  "That 
ain't  what  I  take  ye  for,  I  tell  you.  You  've  got  to  learn  to  work 


MISS   ASPHYXIA  99 

for  your  living ;  and  you  ought  to  be  thankful  if  I  'in  willing  to 
show  you  how." 

The  little  girl  did  not  appear  particularly  thankful.  She  bent 
her  soft,  pencilled  eyebrows  in  a  dark  frown,  and  her  great  hazel 
eyes  had  gathering  in  them  a  cloud  of  sullen  gloom.  Miss  As- 
phyxia did  not  mind  her  frowning,  —  perhaps  did  not  notice  it. 
She  had  it  settled  in  her  mind,  as  a  first  principle,  that  children 
never  liked  anything  that  was  good  for  them,  and  that,  of  course, 
if  she  took  a  child,  it  would  have  to  be  made  to  come  to  her  by 
forcible  proceedings  promptly  instituted.  So  she  set  her  little 
subject  before  her  by  seizing  her  by  her  two  shoulders  and  squar- 
ing her  round  and  looking  in  her  face,  and  opened  direct  con- 
versation with  her  in  the  following  succinct  manner. 

"  What 's  your  name  ?  " 

Then  followed  a  resolved  and  gloomy  silence,  as  the  large 
bright  eyes  surveyed,  with  a  sort  of  defiant  glance,  the  inquisitor. 

"  Don't  you  hear  ? "  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  giving  her  a  shake. 

"  Don't  be  so  ha'sh  with  her,"  said  the  little  old  woman.  "  Say, 
my  little  dear,  tell  Miss  Asphyxia  your  name,"  she  added,  taking 
the  child's  hand. 

"  Eglantine  Percival,"  said  the  little  girl,  turning  towards  the 
old  woman,  as  if  she  disdained  to  answer  the  other  party  in  the 
conversation. 

"  Wh— a— t  ?  "  said  Miss  Asphyxia.  "  If  there  ain't  the  beat- 
in'est  name  ever  I  heard.  Well,  I  tell  you  /  ain't  got  time  to 
fix  my  mouth  to  say  all  that  'ere  every  time  I  want  ye,  now  I 
tell  ye." 

"  Mother  and  Harry  called  me  Tina,"  said  the  child. 

"Teny!  Well,  I  should  think  so,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia. 
"  That  showed  she  'd  got  a  grain  o'  sense  left,  anyhow.  She  's 
tol'able  strong  and  well-limbed  for  her  age,"  added  that  lady, 
feeling  of  the  child's  arms  and  limbs ;  "  her  flesh  is  solid.  I 
think  she  '11  make  a  strong  woman,  only  put  her  to  work  early 
and  keep  her  at  it.  I  could  rub  out  clothes  at  the  wash-tub  afore 
I  was  at  her  age." 

"  0,  she  can  do  considerable  many  little  chores,"  said  Old  Crab's 
wife. 


100  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia ;  "  there  can  a  good  deal  be  got  out 
of  a  child  if  you  keep  at  'em,  hold  'em  in  tight,  and  never  let  'em 
have  their  head  a  minute ;  push  right  hard  on  behind  'em,  and 
you  get  considerable.  That 's  the  way  I  was  raised." 

"But  I  want  to  play,"  said  the  little  girl,  bursting  out  in  a  sob- 
bing storm  of  mingled  fear  and  grief. 

"  Want  to  play,  do  you  ?  Well,  you  must  get  over  that.  Don't 
you  know  that  that 's  as  bad  as  stealing  ?  You  have  n't  got  any 
money,  and  if  you  eat  folks's  bread  and  butter,  you  've  got  to  work 
to  pay  for  it ;  and  if  folks  buy  your  clothes,  you  've  got  to  work  to 
pay  for  them."  . 

"  But  I  've  got  some  clothes  of  my  own,"  persisted  the  child, 
determined  not  to  give  up  her  case  entirely. 

"  Well,  so  you  have ;  but  there  ain't  no  sort  of  wear  in  'em/' 
said  Miss  Asphyxia,  turning  to  Mrs.  Smith.  "  Them  two  dresses 
o'  hern  might  answer  for  Sundays  and  sich,  but  I  '11  have  to  make 
her  up  a  regular  linsey  working  dress  this  fall,  and  check  aprons  ; 
and  she  must  set  right  about  knitting  every  minute  she  is  n't  do- 
ing anything  else.  Did  you  ever  learn  how  to  knit  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  child. 

"  Or  to  sew  ?  "  said  Miss  Asphyxia. 

"  Yes  ;  mother  taught  me  to  sew,"  said  the  child. 

"  No !  Yes  !  Hain't  you  learned  manners  ?  Do  you  say  yes 
and  no  to  people  ?  " 

The  child  stood  a  moment,  swelling  with  suppressed  feelmg, 
and,  at  last  she  opened  her  great  eyes  full  on  Miss  Asphyxia,  and 
said,  "  I  don't  like  you.  You  ain't  pretty,  and  I  won't  go  with 
you." 

"  O  now,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  "  little  girls  must  n't  talk  so ; 
that 's  naughty." 

"  Don't  like  me  ?  —  ain't  I  pretty  ?  "  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  with 
a  short,  grim  laugh.  "  May  be  I  ain't ;  but  I  know  what  I  'm 
about,  and  you  'd  as  goods  know  it  first  as  last.  I  'm  going  to 
take  ye  right  out  with  me  in  the  waggin,  and  you  'd  best  not  have 
none  of  your  cuttin's  up.  I  keep  a  stick  at  home  for  naughty 
girls.  Why,  where  do  you  suppose  you  're  going  to  get  your 
livin'  if  I  don't  take  you  ?  " 


MISS  ASPHYXIA.  101 

"  I  want  to  live  with  Harry,"  said  the  child,  sobbing.  "  Where 
is  Harry?" 

"  Harry  's  to  work,  —  and  there  's  where  he  's  got  to  be,"  said 
Miss  Asphyxia.  "  He  's  got  to  work  with  the  men  in  the  fields, 
and  you  've  got  to  come  home  and  work  with  me." 

"  I  want  to  stay  with  Harry,  —  Harry  takes  care  of  me,"  said 
the  child,  in  a  piteous  tone. 

Old  Mother  Smith  now  toddled  to  her  milk-room,  and,  with  a 
melting  heart,  brought  out  a  doughnut.  "  There  now,  eat  that," 
she  said  ;  "  and  mcbbe,  if  you  're  good,  Miss  Asphyxia  will  bring 
you  down  here  some  time." 

"  0  laws,  Polly,  you  allers  was  a  fool ! "  said  Miss  Asphyxia. 
"  It 's  all  for  the  child's  good,  and  what 's  the  use  of  fussin'  on  her 
up  ?  She  '11  come  to  it  when  she  knows  she  's  got  to.  'T  ain't 
no  more  than  I  was  put  to  at  her  age,  only  the  child  *s  been 
fooled  with  and  babied." 

The  little  one  refused  the  doughnut,  and  seemed  to  gather  her- 
self up  in  silent  gloom. 

"  Come,  now,  don't  stand  sulking ;  let  me  put  your  bonnet  on," 
said  Miss  Asphyxia,  in  a  brisk,  metallic  voice.  "  I  can't  be  losin' 
the  best  part  of  my  day  with  this  nonsense ! "  And  forthwith 
she  clawed  up  the  child,  in  her  bony  grasp,  as  easily  as  an  eagle 
might  truss  a  chick-sparrow. 

."Be  a  good  little  girl,  now,"  said  the  little  gray  woman,  who 
felt  a  strange  swelling  and  throbbing  in  her  poor  old  breast.  To 
be  sure,  she  knew  she  was  a  fool ;  her  husband  had  told  her  so  at 
least  three  times  every  day  for  years ;  and  Miss  Asphyxia  only 
confirmed  what  she  accepted  familiarly  as  the  truth.  But  yet 
she  could  not  help  these  unprofitable  longings  to  coddle  and  com- 
fort something,  —  to  do  some  of  those  little  motherly  tender- 
nesses for  children  which  go  to  no  particular  result,  only  to  make 
them  happy ;  so  she  ran  out  after  the  wagon  with  a  tempting 
seed-cake,  and  forced  it  into  the  child's  hand. 

"  Take  it,  do  take  it,"  she  said ;  "  eat  it,  and  be  a  good  girl,  and 
do  just  as  she  tells  you  to." 

"  I  '11  see  to  that,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  as  she  gathered  up  the 
reins  and  gave  a  cut  to  her  horse,  which  started  that  quadruped 


102  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

from  a  dream  of  green  grass  into  a  most  animated  pace.  Every 
creature  in  her  service  —  horse,  cow,  and  pig  —  knew  at  once 
the  touch  of  Miss  Asphyxia,  and  the  necessity  of  being  up  and 
doing  when  she  was  behind  them ;  and  the  horse,  who  under 
other  hands  would  have  been  the  slowest  and  most  reflective  of 
beasts,  now  made  the  little  wagon  spin  and  bounce  over  the 
rough,  stony  road,  so  that  the  child's  short  legs  flew  up  in  the  air 
every  few  moments. 

"  You  must  hold  on  tight,"  was  Miss  Asphyxia's  only  comment 
on  this  circumstance.  "If  you  fall  out,  you  '11  break  your  neck ! " 

It  was  a  glorious  day  of  early  autumn,  the  sun  shining  as  only 
an  autumn  sun  knows  how  to  shine.  The  blue  fields  of  heaven 
were  full  of  fleecy  flocks  of  clouds,  drifting  hither  and  thither 
at  their  lazy  will.  The  golden-rod  and  the  aster  hung  their 
plumage  over  the  rough,  rocky  road ;  and  now  and  then  it  wound 
through  a  sombre  piece  of  woods,  where  scarlet  sumachs  and 
maples  flashed  out  among  the  gloomy  green  hemlocks  with  a 
solemn  and  gorgeous  light.  So  very  fair  was  the  day,  and  so  full 
of  life  and  beauty  was  the  landscape,  that  the  child,  who  came  of 
a  beauty-loving  lineage,  felt  her  little  heart  drawn  out  from  under 
its  burden  of  troubles,  and  springing  and  bounding  with  that 
elastic  habit  of  happiness  which  seems  hard  to  kill  in  children. 

Once  she  laughed  out  as  a  squirrel,  with  his  little  chops  swelled 
with  a  nut  on  each  side,  sat  upon  the  fence  and  looked  after 
them,  and  then  whisked  away  behind  the  stone  wall ;  and  once 
she  called  out,  "  0,  how  pretty ! "  at  a  splendid  clump  of  blue 
fringed  gentian,  which  stood  holding  up  its  hundred  azure  vases 
by  the  wayside.  "  O,  I  do  wish  I  could  get  some  of  that ! "  she 
cried  out,  impulsively. 

"  Some  of  what  ?  "  said  Miss  Asphyxia. 

"  O,  those  beautiful  flowers ! "  said  the  child,  leaning  far  out 
to  look  back. 

"  0,  that 's  nothing  but  gentian,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia ;  "  can't 
stop  for  that.  Them  blows  is  good  to  dry  for  weakness,"  she 
added.  "  By  and  by,  if  you  're  good,  mebbe  I  '11  let  you  get 
some  on  'em." 

Miss  Asphyxia  had  one  word  for  all  flowers.     She  called  them 


MISS  ASPHYXIA.  103 

all  "  blows,"  and  they  were  divided  in  her  mind,  in  a  manner 
far  more  simple  than  any  botanical  system,  into  two  classes ; 
namely,  blows  that  were  good'  to  dry,  and  blows  that  were  not. 
Elder-blow,  catnip,  hoarhound,  hardback,  gentian,  ginseng,  and 
various  other  vegetable  tribes,  she  knew  well  and  had  a  great 
respect  for;  but  all  the  other  little  weeds  that  put  on  obtrusive 
colors  and  flaunted  in  the  summer  breeze,  without  any  pre- 
tensions to  further  usefulness,  Miss  Asphyxia  completely  ignored. 
It  would  not  be  describing  her  state  to  say  she  had  a  contempt 
for  them :  she  simply  never  saw  or  thought  of  them  at  all.  The 
idea  of  beauty  as  connected  with  any  of  them  never  entered  her 
mind,  —  it  did  not  exist  there. 

The  young  cousin  who  shared  her  housework  had,  to  be  sure, 
planted  a  few  flowers  in  a  corner  of  the  garden  ;  there  were  some 
peonies  and  pinks  and  a  rose-bush,  which  often  occupied  a  spare 
hour  of  the  girl's  morning  or  evening ;  but  Miss  Asphyxia 
watched  these  operations  with  a  sublime  contempt,  and  only  cal- 
culated the  loss  of  potatoes  and  carrots  caused  by  this  unproduc- 
tive beauty.  Since  the  marriage  of  this  girl,  Miss  Asphyxia  had 
often  spoken  to  her  man  about  "  clearing  out  them  things  " ;  but 
somehow  he  always  managed  to  forget  it,  and  the  thriftless  beau- 
ties still  remained. 

It  wanted  but  about  an  hour  of  noon  when  Miss  Asphyxia  set 
down  the  little  girl  on  the  clean-scrubbed  floor  of  a  great  kitchen, 
where  everything  was  even  desolately  orderly  and  neat.  Shef 
swung  her  at  once  into  a  chair.  "  Sit  there,"  she  said,  "  till  I  'm 
ready  to  see  to  ye."  And  then,  marching  up  to  her  own  room, 
she  laid  aside  her  bonnet,  and,  coming  down,  plunged  into  active 
preparations  for  the  dinner. 

An  irrepressible  feeling  of  desolation  came  over  the  child. 
The  elation  produced  by  the  ride  died  away;  and,  as  she  sat 
dangling  her  heels  from  the  chair,  and  watching  the  dry,  grim  form 
of  Miss  Asphyxia,  a  sort  of  terror  of  her  began  slowly  to  usurp 
the  place  of  that  courage  which  had  at  first  inspired  the  child  to 
rise  up  against  the  assertion  of  so  uncongenial  a  power. 

All  the  strange,  dreadful  events  of  the  last  few  days  mingled 
themselves,  in  her  childish  mind,  in  a  weird  mass  of  uncompre- 


104  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

hended  gloom  and  mystery.  Her  mother,  so  changed,  —  cold, 
stiff,  lifeless,  neither  smiling  nor  speaking  nor  looking  at  her ;  the 
people  coming  to  the  house,  and  talking  and  singing  and  pray- 
ing, and  then  putting  her  in  a  box  in  the  ground,  and  saying 
that  she  was  dead ;  and  then,  right  upon  that,  to  be  torn  from 
her  brother,  to  whom  she  had  always  looked  for  protection  and 
counsel,  —  all  this  seemed  a  weird,  inexplicable  cloud  coming 
over  her  heart  and  darkening  all  her  little  life.  Where  was 
Harry  ?  Why  did  he  let  them  take  her  ?  Or  perhaps  equally 
dreadful  people  had  taken  him,  and  would  never  bring  him  back 
again. 

There  was  a  tall  black  clock  in  a  corner  of  the  kitchen,  that 
kept  its  invariable  monotone  of  tick-tack,  tick-tack,  with  a  per- 
sistence that  made  her  head  swim ;  and  she  watched  the  quick, 
decisive  movements  of  Miss  Asphyxia  with  somewhat  of  the 
same  respectful  awe  with  which  one  watches  the  course  of  a  loco- 
motive engine. 

It  was  late  for  Miss  Asphyxia's  dinner  preparations,  but  she 
instituted  prompt  measures  to  make  up  for  lost  time.  She  flew 
about  the  kitchen  with  such  long-armed  activity  and  fearful  ce- 
lerity, that  the  child  began  instinctively  to  duck  and  bob  her  little 
head  when  she  went  by,  -lest  she  should  hit  her  and  knock  her  off 
her  chair. 

Miss  Asphyxia  raked  open  the  fire  in  the  great  kitchen  chim- 
ney, and  built  it  up  with  a  liberal  supply  of  wood  ;  then  she  rat- 
tled into  the  back  room,  and  a  sound  was  heard  of  a  bucket 
descending  into  a  well  with  such  frantic  haste  as  only  an  oaken 
bucket  under  Miss  Asphyxia's  hands  could  be  frightened  into. 
Back  she  came  with  a  stout  black  iron  tea-kettle,  which  she 
hung  over  the  fire  ;  and  then,  flopping  down  a  ham  on  the  table, 
she  cut  off  slices  with  a  martial  and  determined  air,  as  if  she 
would  like  to  see  the  ham  try  to  help  itself ;  and,  before  the  child 
could  fairly  see  what  she  was  doing,  the  slices  of  ham  were  in 
the  frying-pan  over  the  coals,  the  ham  hung  up  in  its  place,  the 
knife  wiped  and  put  out  of  sight,  and  the  table  drawn  out  into 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  invested  with  a  cloth  for  dinner. 

During  these  operations  the  child  followed  every  movement 


MISS  ASPHYXIA.  105 

with  awe-struck  eyes,  and  studied  with  trembling  attention  every 
feature  of  this  wonderful  woman. 

Miss  Asphyxia  was  tall  and  spare.  Nature  had  made  her,  as 
she  often  remarked  of  herself,  entirely  for  use.  She  had  allowed 
for  her  muscles  no  cushioned  repose  of  fat,  no  redundant  smooth- 
ness of  outline.  There  was  nothing  to  her  but  good,  strong,  solid 
bone,  and  tough,  wiry,  well-strung  muscle.  She  was  past  fifty, 
and  her  hair  was  already  well  streaked  with  gray,  and  so  thin 
that,  when  tightly  combed  and  tied,  it  still  showed  bald  cracks, 
not  very  sightly  to  the  eye.  The  only  thought  that  Miss  As- 
phyxia ever  had  had  in  relation  to  the  coiffure  of  her  hair  was 
that  it  was  to  be  got  out  of  her  way.  Hair  she  considered  prin- 
cipally as  something  that  might  get  into  people's  eyes,  if  not 
properly  attended  to ;  and  accordingly,  at  a  very  early  hour  every 
morning,  she  tied  all  hers  in  a  very  tight  knot,  and  then  secured 
it  by  a  horn  comb  on  the  top  of  her  head.  To  tie  this  knot  so 
tightly  that,  once  done,  it  should  last  all  day,  was  Miss  Asphyxia's 
only  art  of  the  toilet,'  and  she  tried  her  work  every  morning  by 
giving  her  head  a  shake,  before  she  left  her  looking-glass,  not  un- 
like that  of  an  unruly  cow.  If  this  process  did  not  start  the 
horn  comb  from  its  moorings,  Miss  Asphyxia  was  well  pleased. 
For  the  rest,  her  face  was  dusky  and  wilted,  —  guarded  by  gaunt, 
high  cheek-bones,  and  watched  over  by  a  pair  of  small  gray  eyes 
of  unsleeping  vigilance.  The  shaggy  eyebrows  that  overhung 
them  were  grizzled,  like  her  hair. 

It  would.,  not  be  proper  to  say  that  Miss  Asphyxia  looked  ill- 
tempered  ;  but  her  features  could  never,  by  any  stretch  of  imagi- 
nation, be  supposed  td  wear  an  expression  of  tenderness.  They 
were  set  in  an  austere,  grim  gravity,  whose  lines  had  become  more 
deeply  channelled  by  every  year  of  her  life.  As  related  to  her 
fellow-creatures,  she  was  neither  passionate  nor  cruel.  We  have 
before  described  her  as  a  working  machine,  forever  wound  up  to 
high-pressure  working-point;  and  this  being  her  nature,  she  trod 
down  and  crushed  whatever  stood  in  the  way  of  her  work,  with 
as  little  compunction  as  if  she  had  been  a  steam-engine  or  a 
power-loom.  • 

Miss  Asphyxia  had  a  full  conviction  of  what  a^ecent  pleasant 

5* 


106  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

writer  has  denominated  the  total  depravity  of  matter.  She  was 
not  given  to  many  words,  but*  it  might  often  be  gathered  from 
her  brief  discourses  that  she  had  always  felt  herself,  so  to  speak, 
sword  in  hand  against  a  universe  where  everything  was  running 
to  disorder,  —  everything  was  tending  to  slackness,  shiftlessness, 
unthrift,  and  she  alone  was  left  on  the  earth  to  keep  things  in 
their  places.  Her  hired  men  were  always  too  late  up  in  the 
morning,  —  always  shirking,  — -  always  taking  too  long  a  nap  at 
noon ;  everybody  was  watching  to  cheat  her  in  every  bargain  ; 
her  horse,  cow,  pigs,  —  all  her  possessions,  —  were  ready  at  the 
slightest  winking  of  her  eye,  or  relaxing  of  her  watch,  to  fall 
into  all  sorts  of  untoward  ways  and  gyrations;  and  therefore 
she  slept,  as  it  were,  in  her  armor,  and  spent  her  life  as  a  senti- 
nel on  duty. 

In  taking  a  child,  she  had  had  her  eyes  open  only  to  one  pat- 
ent fact,  —  that  a  child  was  an  animal  who  would  always  be 
wanting  to  play,  and  that  she  must  make  all  her  plans  and  cal- 
culations to  keep  her  from  playing.  To  this  end  she  had  before- 
hand given  out  word  to  her  brother,  that,  if  she  took  the-  girl,  the 
boy  must  be  kept  away.  "  Got  enough  on  my  hands  now,  with- 
out bavin'  a  boy  trainin'  round  my  house,  and  upsettin'  all  crea- 
tion," said  the  grim  virgin. 

"  Wai,  wal,"  said  Old  Crab,  « 't  ain't  best ;  they  '11  be  a  con- 
sultin'  together,  and  cuttin'  up  didos.  I  '11  keep  the  boy  tight 
enough,  I  tell  you." 

Little  enough  was  the  dinner  that  the  child  ate  that  day. 
There  were  two  hulking,  square-shouldered  men  at  the  table, 
who  stared  at  her  with  great  round  eye's  like  oxen ;  and  so, 
though  Miss  Asphyxia  dumped  down  Indian  pudding,  ham,  and 
fried  potatoes  before  her,  the  child's  eating  was  scarcely  that  of 
a  blackbird. 

Marvellous  to  the  little  girl  was  the  celerity  with  which  Miss 
Asphyxia  washed  and  cleared  up  the  dinner-dishes.  How  the 
dishes  rattled,  the  knives  and  forks  clinked,  as  she  scraped  and 
piled  and  washed  and  wiped  and  put  everything  in  a  trice  back 
into  such  perfect  place,  that  it  looked  as  if  nothing  -had  ever  been 
done  on  the  premises ! 


MISS   ASPHYXIA.  107 

After  this  Miss  Asphyxia  produced  thimble,  thread,  needle, 
and  scissors,  and,  drawing  out  of  a  closet  a  bale  of  coarse  blue 
home-made  cloth,  proceeded  to  measure  the  little  girl  for  a  petti- 
coat and  short  gown  of  the  same.  This  being  done  to  her  mind, 
she  dumped  her  into  a  chair  beside  her,  and,  putting  a  brown 
towel  into  her  hands  to  be  hemmed,  she  briefly  said,  "  There, 
keep  to  work";  while  she,  with  great  despatch  and  resolution, 
set  to  work  on  the  little  garments  aforesaid. 

The  child  once  or  twice  laid  down  her  work  to  watch  the 
chickens  who  came  up  round  the  door,  or  to  note  a  bird  which 
flew  by  with  a  little  ripple  of  song.  The  first  time,  Miss  As- 
phyxia only  frowned,  and  said,  U9  Tut,  tut."  The  second  time, 
there  came  three  thumps  of  Miss  Asphyxia's  thimble  down  on 
the  little  head,  with  the  admonition,  "  Mind  your  work."  The 
child  now  began  to  cry,  but  Miss  Asphyxia  soon  put  an  end  to 
that  by  displaying  a  long  birch  rod,  with  a  threatening  move- 
ment, and  saying  succinctly,  "  Stop  that,  this  minute,  or  I  '11  whip 
you."  And  the  child  was  so  certain  of  this  that  she  swallowed 
her  grief  and  stitched  away  as  fast  as  her  little  fingers  could  go. 

As  soon  as  supper  was  over  that  night,  Miss  Asphyxia  seized 
upon  the  child,  and,  taking  her  to  a  tub  in  the  sink-room,  pro- 
ceeded to  divest  her  of  her  garments  and  subject  her  to  a  most 
thorough  ablution. 

"  I  'm  goin'  to  give  you  .one  good  scrubbin'  to  start  with,"  said 
Miss  Asphyxia ;  and,  truth  to  say,  no  word  could  more  thoroughly 
express  the  character  of  the  ablution  than  the  term  "  scrubbing." 
The  poor  child  was  deluged  with  soap  and  water,  in  mouth,  nose, 
ears,  and  eyes,  while  the  great  bony  hands  rubbed  and  splashed, 
twisted  her  arms,  turned  her  ears  wrong  side  out,  and  dashed  on 
the  water  with  unsparing  vigor.  Nobody  can  tell  the  torture 
which  can  be  inflicted  on  a  child  in  one  of  these  vigorous  old 
New  England  washings,  which  used  to  make  Saturday  night  a 
terror  in  good  families.  But  whatever  they  were,  the  little  mar- 
tyr was  by  this  time  so  thoroughly  impressed  with  the  awful 
reality  of  Miss  Asphyxia's  power  over  her,  that  she  endured  all 
with  only  a  few  long-drawn  and  convulsed  sighs,  and  an  inaudi- 
ble «  O  dear  ! " 


108  OLDTOW:NT  FOLKS. 

When  well  scrubbed  and  wiped,  Miss  Asphyxia  put  on  a  coarse 
homespun  nightgown,  and,  pinning  a  cloth  round  the  child's  neck, 
began  with  her  scissors  the  work  of  cutting  off  her  hair.  Snip, 
snip,  went  the  fatal  shears,  and  down  into  the  towel  fell  bright 
curls,  once  the  pride  of  a  mother's  heart,  till  finally  the  small 
head  was  despoiled  completely.  Then  Miss  Asphyxia,  shaking 
up  a  bottle  of  camphor,  proceeded  to  rub  some  vigorously  upon 
the  child's  head.  "There,"  she  said,  "that's  to  keep  ye  from 
catchin'  cold." 

She  then  proceeded  to  the  kitchen,  raked  open  the  fire,  and 
shook  the  golden  curls  into  the  bed  of  embers,  and  stood  grimly 
over  them  while  they  seethed  and  twisted  and  writhed,  as  if  they 
had  been  living  things  suffering  a  fiery  torture,  meanwhile  pick- 
ing diligently  at  the  cloth  that  had  contained  them,  that  no  stray 
hair  might  escape. 

"  I  wonder  now,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  if  any  of  this  will  rise 
and  get  into  the  next  pudding?"  She  spoke  with  a  spice  of 
bitterness,  poor  woman,  as  if  it  would  be  just  the  way  things 
usually  went  on,  if  it  did. 

She  buried  the  fire  carefully,  and  then,  opening  the  door  of  a 
small  bedroom  adjoining,  which  displayed  a  single  bed,  she  said, 
"  Now  get  into  bed." 

The  child  immediately  obeyed,  thankful  to  hide  herself  under 
the  protecting  folds  of  a  blue  checked  coverlet,  and  feeling  that 
at  last  the  dreadful  Miss  Asphyxia  would  leave  her  to  herself. 

Miss  Asphyxia  clapped  to  the  door,  and  the  child  drew  a 
long  breath.  In  a  moment,  however,  the  door  flew  open.  Miss 
Asphyxia  had  forgotten  something.  "  Can  you  say  your  prayers  ?  " 
she  demanded. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  child. 

"  Say  'em,  then,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia ;  and  bang  went  the 
door  again. 

"  There,  now,  if  I  hain't  done  up  my  duty  to  that  child,  then 
I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia. 


HARRY'S   FIRST   DAY'S   WORK.  109 

CHAPTER    IX. 

HARRY'S  FIRST  DAY'S    WORK. 

IT  was  the  fashion  of  olden  times  to  consider  children  only  as 
children  pure  and  simple ;  not  as  having  any  special  and 
individual  nature  which  required  special  and  individual  adapta- 
tion, but  as  being  simply  so  many  little  creatures  to  be  washed, 
dressed,  schooled,  fed,  and  whipped,  according  to  certain  general 
and  well-understood  rules. 

The  philosophy  of  modern  society  is  showing  to  parents  and 
educators  how  delicate  and  how  varied  is  their  task ;  but  in  the 
days  we  speak  of  nobody  had  thought  of  these  shadings  and 
variations.  It  is  perhaps  true,  that  in  that  very  primitive  and 
simple  state  of  society  there  were  fewer  of  those  individual  pecu- 
liarities which  are  the  result  of  the  stimulated  brains  and  nervous 
systems  of  modern  society. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  the  little  parish  of  Needmore  saw  nothing 
in  the  fact  that  two  orphan  children  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
Crab  Smith  and  his  sister,  Miss  Asphyxia,  which  appeared  to  its 
moral  sense  as  at  all  unsuitable.  To  be  sure,  there  was  a  sup- 
pressed shrug  of  the  shoulders  at  the  idea  of  the  little  fair- 
haired,  pleasant-mannered  boy  being  given  up  to  Old  Crab. 
People  said  to  each  other,  with  a  knowing  grin :  "  That  'ere 
boy  'd  have  to  toe  the  mark  pretty  handsome ;  but  then,  he 
might  do  wus.  He  'd  have  enough  to  eat  and  drink  anyhow,  and 
old  Ma'am  Smith,  she  'd  mother  him.  As  to  Miss  Asphyxia 
and  the  girl,  why,  't  was  jest  the  thing.-  She  was  jest  the  hand 
to  raise  a  smart  girl." 

In  fact,  we  are  not  certain  that  Miss  Asphyxia,  with  a  few 
modifications  and  fashionable  shadings  suitable  for  our  modern 
society,  is  not,  after  all,  the  ideal  personage  who  would  get  all 
votes  as  just  the  proper  person  to  take  charge  of  an  orphan  asy- 
lum, —  would  be  recommended  to  widowers  with  large  families 
as  just  the  woman  to  bring  up  their  children. 


110  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

Efficiency  has  always  been,  in  our  New  England,  the  golden 
calf  before  which  we  have  fallen  down  and  worshipped.  The 
great  granite  formation  of  physical  needs  and  wants  that  underlie 
life  in  a  country  with  a  hard  soil  and  a  severe  climate  gives  an 
intensity  to  our  valuation  of  what  pertains  to  the  working  of 
the  direct  and  positive  force  that  controls  the  physical ;  and 
that  which  can  keep  in  constant  order  the  eating,  drinking,  and 
wearing  of  this  mortal  body  is  always  asserting  itself  in  every 
department  of  life  as  the  true  wisdom. 

But  what,  in  fact,  were  the  two  little  children  who  had  been 
thus  seized  on  and  appropriated  ? 

The  boy  was,  as  we  have  described,  of  a  delicate  and  highly 
nervous  organization,  —  sensitive,  resthetic,  —  evidently  fitted  by 
nature  more  for  the  poet  or  scholar  than  for  the  rough  grind  of 
physical  toil.  There  had  been  superinduced  on  this  temperament 
a  precocious  development  from  the  circumstance  of  his  having 
been  made,  during  the  earliest  years  of  his  consciousness,  the  com- 
panion of  his  mother.  Nothing  unfolds  a  child  faster  than  being 
thus  taken  into  the  companionship  of  older  minds  in  the  first 
years  of  life.  He  was  naturally  one  of  those  manly,  good-natured, 
even-tempered  children  that  are  the  delight  of  nurses  and  the 
staff  and  stay  of  mothers.  Early  responsibility  and  sorrow,  and 
the  religious  teachings  of  his  mother,  had  awakened  the  spiritual 
part  of  his  nature  to  a  higher  consciousness  than  usually  exists  in 
childhood.  There  was  about  him  a  steady,  uncorrnpted  good- 
ness and  faithfulness  of  nature,  a  simple,  direct  truthfulness,  and 
a  loyal  habit  of  prompt  obedience  to  elders,  which  made  him  one 
of  those  children  likely,  in  every  position  of  child-life,  to  be  favor- 
ites, and  to  run  a  smooth  course. 

The  girl,  on  the  contrary,  had  in  her  all  the  elements  of  a  little 
bundle  of  womanhood,  born  to  rule  and  command  in  a  pure  wo- 
manly way.  She  was  affectionate,  gay,  pleasure-loving,  self- 
willed,  imperious,  intensely  fond  of  approbation,  with  great  stores 
of  fancy,  imagination,  and  an  under-heat  of  undeveloped  passion 
that  would,  in  future  life,  give  warmth  and  color  to  all  her 
thoughts,  as  a  volcanic  soil  is  said  to  brighten  the  hues  of  flowers 
and  warm  the  flavor  of  grapes.  She  had,  too,  that  capacity  of; 


HARRY'S   FIRST   DAY'S  WORK.  Ill 

secretiveness  which  enabled  her  to  carry  out  the  dictates  of  a 
strong  will,  and  an  intuitive  sense  of  where  to  throw  a  tendril  or 
strike  a  little  fibre  of  persuasion  or  coaixing,  which  comes  early  to 
those  fair  parasites  who  are  to  live  by  climbing  upon  others,  and 
to  draw  their  hues  and  sweetness  from  the  warmth  of  other 
hearts.  The  moral  and  religious  faculties  were  as  undeveloped 
in  her  as  in  a  squirrel  or  a  robin.  She  had  lived,  in  fact,  be- 
tween her  sorrowing  mother  and  her  thoughtful  little  brother,  as 
a  beautiful  pet,  whose  little  gladsome  ways  and  gay  pranks  were 
the  only  solace  of  their  poverty.  Even  the  father,  in  good- 
natured  hours,  had  caressed  her,  played  with  her,  told  her  stories, 
and  allowed  all  her  little  audacities  and  liberties  with  an  indul- 
gence that  her  brother  could  not  dare  to  hope  for.  No  service 
or  self-denial  had  ever  been  required  of  her.  She  had  been 
served,  with  a  delicate  and  exact  care,  by  both  mother  and 
brother. 

Such  were  the  two  little  specimens  of  mortality  which  the  town 
of  Needmore  thought  well  provided  for  when  they  were  con- 
signed to  Crab  Smith  and  Miss  Asphyxia. 

The  first  day  after  the  funeral  of  his  mother,  the  boy  had  been 
called  up  before  light  in  the  morning, 'and  been  off  at  sunrise  to 
the  fields  with  the  men ;  but  he  had  gone  with  a  heart  of  manly 
enterprise,  feeling  as  if  he  were  beginning  life  on  his  own  account, 
and  meaning,  with  straightforward  simplicity,  to  do  his  best. 

He  assented  to  Old  Crab's  harsh  orders  with  such  obedient  sub- 
mission, and  set  about  the  work  given  him  with  such  a  steady, 
manly  patience  and  good-will,  as  to  win  for  himself,  at  the  outset, 
golden  opinions  from  the  hired  men,  and  to  excite  in  Old  Crab 
that  discontented  satisfaction  which  he  felt  in  an  employee  in  whom 
he  could  find  nothing  to  scold.  The  work  of  merely  picking  up 
the  potatoes  from  the  hills  which  the  men  opened  was  so  very 
simple  as  to  give  no  chance  for  mistake  or  failure,  and  the  boy 
was  so  cheerful  and  unintermitting  in  his  work  that  no  fault  could 
be  found  under  that  head.  He  was  tired  enough,  it  is  true,  at 
night ;  but,  as  he  rode  home  in  the  cart,  he  solaced  himself  with 
the  idea  that  he  was  beginning  to  be  a  man,  and  that  he  should 
work  and  support  his  sister,  —  and  he  had  many  things  to  tell 


112  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

her  of  the  result  of  his  first  day's  labor.  He  wondered  that  she 
did  not  come  to  meet  him  as  the  cart  drove  up  to  the  house, 
and  his  first  inquiry,  when  he  saw  the  friendly  old  woman,  w.is, 
"  Where  is  Tina  ?  " 

"  She  's  gone  to  live  with  /MS  sister,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  in  an 
undertone,  pointing  to  her  husband  in  the  back  yard.  "  Asphyxia 
's  took  her  to  raise." 

"  To  what  ?  "  said  the  boy,  timidly. 

"  Why,  to  fetch  her  up,  -r—  teach  her  to  work,"  said  the  little 
old  woman.  "  But  come,  sonny,  go  wash  your  hands  to  the  sink. 
Dear  me !  why,  you  've  fairly  took  the  skin  off  your  fingers." 

"  I  'm  not  much  used  to  work,"  said  the  boy,  "  but  I  don't 
mind  it."  And  he  washed  carefully  the  little  hands,  which,  sure 
enough,  had  the  skin  somewhat  abraded  on  the  finger-ends. 

"  Do  ye  good,"  said  Old  Crab.  "  Must  n't  mind  that.  Can't 
have  no  lily-fingered  boys  workin'  for  me." 

The  child  had  not  thought  of  complaining ;  but  as  soon  as  he 
was  alone  with  Mrs.  Smith,  he  came  to  her  confidentially  and 
said,  "  How  far  is  it  to  where  Tina  lives  ?" 

"  Well,  it  's  the  best  part  of  two  miles,  I  calculate." 

"  Can't  I  go  over  there  to-night  and  see  her  ?  " 

"  Dear  heart !  no,  you  can't.  Why,  your  little  back  must  ache 
now,  and  he  '11  have  you  routed  up  by  four  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"  I  'm  not  so  very  tired,"  said  the  boy ;  "  but  I  want  to  see 
Tina.  If  you  '11  show  me  the  way,  I  '11  go." 

"  O,  well,  you  see,  they  won't  let  you,"  said  the  old  woman, 
confidentially.  "  They  are  a  ha'sh  pair  of  'em,  him  and  Sphyxy 
are ;  and  they  've  settled  it  that  you  ain't  to  see  each  other  no 
more,  for  fear  you  'd  get  to  playin'  and  idlin'." 

The  blood  flushed  into  the  boy's  face,  and  he  breathed  short. 
Something  stirred  within  him,  such  as  makes  slavery  bitter,  as  he 
said,  "  But  that  is  n't  right.  She  's  my  only  sister,  and  my  mother 
told  me  to  take  care  of  her ;  and  I  ought  to  see  her  sometimes." 

"  Lordy  massy ! "  said  Goody  Smith ;  "  when  you  're  with  some 
folks,  it  don't  make  no  difference  what 's  right  and  what  ain't. 
You  've  jest  got  to  do  as  ye  ken.  It  won't  do  to  rile  him,  I  tell 


HARRY'S   FIEST  DAY'S  WORK.  113 

you.  He 's  awful,  once  git  his  back  up."  And  Goody  Smith 
shook  her  little  old  head  mysteriously,  and  hushed  the  boy,  as  she 
heard  her  husband's  heavy  tread  coming  in  from  the  barn. 

The  supper  of  cold  beef  and  pork,  potatoes,  turnips,  and  hard 
cider,  which  was  now  dispensed  at  the  farm-house,  was  ample  for 
all  purposes  of  satisfying  hunger;  and  the  little  Harry,  tired  as 
he  was,  ate  with  a  vigorous  relish.  But  his  mind  was  still  dwell- 
ing on  his  sister. 

After  supper  was  over  he  followed  Goody  Smith  into  her 
milk-room.  "Please  do  ask  him  to  let  me  go  and  see  Tina," 
he  said,  persuasively. 

"  Laws  a  massy,  ye  poor  dear !  ye  don't  know  the  critter.  If 
/ask  him  to  do  a  thing,  he  's  all  the  more  set  agin  it.  I  found 
out  that  'ere  years  ago.  He  never  does  nothin'  /  ask  him  to. 
But  never  mind  ;  some  of  these  days,  we  '11  try  and  contrive  it. 
When  he  's  gone  to  mill,  I  '11  speak  to  the  men,  and  tell  'em  to 
let  ye  slip  off.  But  then  the  pester  on 't  is,  there  's  Sphyxy ; 
she 's  allers  wide  awake,  and  would  n't  let  a  boy  come  near  her 
house  no  more  than  ef  he  was  a  bulldog." 

"  Why,  what  harm  do  boys  do  ?  "  said  the  child,  to  whom  this 
view  presented  an  entirely  new  idea. 

"  O,  well,  she  's  an  old  maid,  and  kind  o'  set  in  her  ways ;  and 
it  ain't  easy  gettin'  round  Sphyxy ;  but  I  '11  try  and  contrive  it. 
Sometimes  I  can  get  round  'em,  arid  get  something  done,  when 
they  don't  know  nothin'  about  it;  but  it's  drefful  hard  gettin' 
things  done." 

The  view  thus  presented  to  the  child's  mind  of  the  cowering, 
deceptive  policy  in  which  the  poor  old  woman's  whole  married 
life  had  been  spent  gave  him  much  to  think  of  after  he  had  gone 
to  his  bedroom. 

He  sat  down  on  his  little,  lonely  bed,  and  began  trying  to  com- 
prehend in  his  own  mind  the  events  of  the  last  few  days.  He 
recalled  his  mother's  last  conversation  with  him.  All  had  hap- 
pened just  as  she  had  said.  She  was  gone,  just  as  she  had  told 
him,  and  left  him  and  little  Tina  alone  in  the  world.  Then  he 
remembered  his  promise,  and,  kneeling  down  by  his  bedside, 
repeated  the  simple  litany  —  psalm,  prayer,  and  hymn  —  which 


114  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

his  mother  had  left  him  as  her  only  parting  gift.  The  words 
soothed  his  little  lonesome  heart;  and  he  thought  what  his  mother 
said,  —  he  recalled  the  look  of  her  dying  eyes  as  she  said  it,  — 
"  Never  doubt  that  God  loves  you,  whatever  happens ;  and,  if 
you  have  any  trouble,  pray  to  him."  Upon  this  thought,  he 
added  to  his  prayer  these  words  :  "  O  dear  Father !  they  have 
taken  away  Tina ;  and  she 's  a  very  little  girl,  and  cannot  work, 
as  I  can.  Please  do  take  cara  of  Tina,  and  make  them  let  me 
go  and  see  her." 


•MISS  ASPHYXIA'S  SYSTEM.  115 


CHAPTER    X. 

ittiss   ASPHYXIA'S   SYSTEM. 

WHEN  Miss  Asphyxia  shut  the  door  finally  on  little  Tina, 
the  child  began  slowly  to  gather  up  her  faculties  from 
the  stunning,  benumbing  influence  of  the  change  which  had  come 
over  her  life. 

In  former  days  her  father  had  told  her  stories  of  little  girls 
that  were  carried  off  to  giants'  houses,  and  there  maltreated  and 
dominated  over  in  very  dreadful  ways;  and  Miss  Asphyxia 
presented  herself  to  her  as  one  of  these  giants.  She  was  so 
terribly  strong,  the  child  felt  instinctively,  in  every  limb,  that 
there  was  no  getting  away  from  her.  Her  eyes  were  so  keen 
and  searching,  her  voice  so  sharp,  all  her  movements  so  full  of  a 
vigor  that  might  be  felt,  that  any  chance  of  getting  the  better  of 
her  by  indirect  ways  seemed  hopelessly  small.  If  she  should  try 
to  run  away  to  find  Harry,  she  was  quite  sure  that  Miss  Asphyxia 
could  make  a  long  arm  that  would  reach  her  before  she  had  gone 
far ;  and  then  what  she  would  do  to  her  was  a  matter  that  she 
dared  not  think  of.  Even  when  she  was  not  meaning  to  be  cross 
to  her,  but  merely  seized  and  swung  her  into  a  chair,  she  had 
such  a  grip  that  it  almost  gave  pain ;  and  what  would  it  be  if  she 
seized  her  in  wrath  ?  No ;  there  was  evidently  no  escape ;  and, 
as  the  thought  came  over  the  child,  she  began  to  cry,  —  first  sob- 
bing, and  then,  as  her  agitation  increased,  screaming  audibly. 

Miss  Asphyxia  opened  the  door.  "  Stop  that ! "  she  said. 
"  What  under  the  canopy  ails  ye  ?  " 

"I  —  want  —  Harry  !  "  said  the  child. 

"  Well,  you  can't  have  Harry ;  and  I  won't  have  ye  bawling. 
Now  shut  up  and  go  to  sleep,  or  I  '11  whip  you  ! "  And,  with  that, 
Miss  Asphyxia  turned  down  the  bedclothes  with  a  resolute  hand. 

"  I  will  be  good, — I  will  stop,"  said  the  child,  in  mortal  terror, 
compressing  the  sobs  that  seemed  to  tear  her  little  frame. 


116  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Miss  Asphyxia  waited  a  moment,  and  then,  going  out,  shut  the 
door,  and  went  on  making  up  the  child's  stuff  gown  outside. 

"  That  'ere  's  goin'  to  be  a  regular  limb,"  she  said ;  "  but  I 
must  begin  as  I  'm  goiii'  to  go  on  with  her,  and  mebbe  she  '11 
amount  to  suthin'  by  and  by.  A  child 's  pretty  much  dead  loss 
the  first  three  or  four  years  ;  but  after  that  they  more  'n  pay,  if 
they  're  fetched  up  right." 

"  Mebbe  that  'ere  child 's  lonesome,"  said  Sol  Peters,  Miss 
Asphyxia's  hired  man,  who  sat  in  the  kitchen  corner,  putting  in 
a  new  hoe-handle. 

"  Lonesome  !  "  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  with  a  sniff  of  contempt. 

"  All  sorts  of  young  critters  is,"  said  Sol,  undismayed  by  this 
sniff.  "  Puppies  is.  'Member  how  our  Spot  yelped  when  I  fust 
got  him  ?  Kept  me  'wake  the  biggest  part  of  one  night.  And 
kittens  mews  when  ye  take  'em  from  the  cats.  Ye  see  they  's 
used  to  other  critters  ;  and  it 's  sort  o'  cold  like,  bein'  alone  is." 

"  Well,  she  '11  have  to  get  used  to  it,  anyhow,"  said  Miss 
Asphyxia.  "  I  guess  't  won't  kill  her.  Ef  a  child  has  enough  to 
eat  and  drink,  and  plenty  of  clothes,  and  somebody  to  take  care 
of  'em,  they  ain't  very  bad  off,  if  they  be  lonesome." 

Sol,  though  a  big-fisted,  hard-handed  fellow,  had  still  rather 
a  soft  spot  under  his  jacket  in  favor  of  all  young,  defenceless 
animals,  and  the  sound  of  the  little  girl's  cry  had  gone  right  to 
this  spot.  So  he  still  revolved  the  subject,  as  he  leisurely 
turned  and  scraped  with  a  bit  of  broken  glass  the  hoe-handle  that 
he  was  elaborating.  After  a  considerable  pause,  he  shut  up  one 
eye,  looked  along  his  hoe-handle  at  Miss  Asphyxia,  as  if  he 
were  taking  aim,  and  remarked,  "  That  'ere  boy  's  a  nice,  stiddy 
little  chap  ;  and  mebbe,  if  he  could  come  down  here  once  and  a 
while  after  work-hours,  't  would  kind  o'  reconcile  her." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Solomon  Peters,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  "  I  'd 
jest  as  soon  have  the  great  red  dragon  in  the  Revelations  a 
comin'  down  on  my  house  as  a  boy  !  Ef  I  don't  work  hard 
enough  now,  I  'd  like  to  know,  without  havin'  a  boy  raound  raisin' 
gineral  Cain.  Don't  tell  me!  I'll  find  work  enough  to  keep 
that  'ere  child  from  bein'  lonesome.  Lonesome  !  — .there  did  n't 
nobody  think  of  no  such  things  when  I  was  little.  I  was  jest  put 


MISS   ASPHYXIA'S   SYSTEM.  117 

right  along,  and  no  remarks  made ;  and  was  made  to  mind 
when  I  was  spoken  to,  and  to  take  things  as  they  come.  O, 
I  '11  find  her  work  enough  to  keep  her  mind  occupied,  I  promise 

je." 

Sol  did  not  in  the  least  doubt  that,  for  Miss  Asphyxia's  reputa- 
tion in  the  region  was  perfectly  established.  She  was  spoken  of 
with  applause  under  such  titles  as  ua  staver,"  "a  pealer,"  "a 
roarer  to  work  "  ;  and  Sol  himself  had  an  awful  sense  of  respon- 
sibility to  her  in  this  regard.  He  had  arrived  at  something  of  a 
late  era  in  single  life,  and  had  sometimes  been  sportively  jogged 
by  his  associates,  at  the  village  store,  as  Jo  his  opportunity  of 
becoming  master  of  Miss  Asphyxia's  person  and  property  by 
matrimonial  overtures  ;  to  all  which  he  summarily  responded 
by  declaring  that  "  a  hoss  might  as  soon  go  a  courtin'  to  the  hoss- 
whip  as  he  court  Miss  Sphyxy."  As  to  Miss  Asphyxia,  when 
rallied  on  the  same  subject,  she  expressed  her  views  of  the  mat- 
rimonial estate  in  a  sentence  more  terse  and  vigorous  than  ele- 
gant, —  that  "  she  knew  t'  much  to  put  her  nose  into  hot  swill." 
Queen  Elizabeth  might  have  expressed  her  mind  in  a  more 
courtly  way,  but  certainly  with  no  more  decision. 

The  little  head  and  heart  in  the  next  room  were  full  of  the 
rudiments  of  thoughts,  desires,  feelings,  imaginations,  and  pas- 
sions which  either  had  never  lived  in  Miss  Asphyxia's  nature,  or 
had  died  so  long  ago  that  not  a  trace  or  memory  of  them  was 
left.  If  she  had  had  even  the  dawnings  of  certain  traits  and 
properties,  she  might  have  doubted  of  her  ability  to  bring  up  a 
child  ;  but  she  had  not, 

Yet  Miss  Asphyxia's  faults  in  this  respect  were  not  so  widely 
different  from  the  practice  of  the  hard,  rustic  inhabitants  of  Need- 
more  as  to  have  prevented  her  getting  employment  as  a  district- 
school  teacher  for  several  terms,  when  she  was  about  twenty 
years  of  age.  She  was  held  to  be  a  "  smart,"  economical  teacher, 
inasmuch  as  she  was  able  to  hold  the  winter  term,  and  thrash  the 
very  biggest'  boys,  and,  while  she  did  tfce  duty  of  a  man,  received 
only  the  wages  of  a  woman,  —  a  recommendation  in  female  quali- 
fication which  has  not  ceased  to  be  available  in  our  modern  days. 
Gradually,  by  incredible  industries,  by  a  faculty  of  pinching, 


118  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

saving,  and  accumulating  hard  to  conceive  of,  Miss  Asphyxia  had 
laid  up  money  till  she  had  actually  come  to  be  the  possessor  of  a 
small  but  neat  house,  and  a  farm  and  dairy  in  excellent  condition ; 
and  she  regarded  herself,  therefore,  and  was  regarded  by  others, 
as  a  model  for  imitation.  Did  she  have  the  least  doubt  that  she 
was  eminently  fitted  to  bring  up  a  girl  ?  I  trow  not. 

Miss  Asphyxia,  in  her  early  childhood,  had  been  taken  to  raise 
in  the  same  manner  that  she  had  taken  this  child.  She  had  been 
trained  to  early  rising,  and  constant,  hard,  unintermitted  work, 
without  thought  of  respite  or  amusement.  During  certain  sea- 
sons of  the  year  she  had  been  sent  to  the  district  school,  where, 
always  energetic  in  whatever  she  took  in  hand,  she  always  stood 
at  the  head  of  the  school  in  the  few  arts  of  scholarship  in  those 
days  taught.  She  could  write  a  good,  round  hand;  she  could 
cipher  with  quickness  and  adroitness ;  she  had  learned  by  heart 
all  the  rules  of  Murray's  Grammar,  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that,  from  the  habits  of  early  childhood,  she  habitually  set  at 
naught  every  one  of  them  in  her  daily  conversation, — always 
strengthening  all  her  denials  with  those  good,  hearty  double 
negatives  which  help  out  French  and  Italian  sentences,  and  are 
unjustly  denied  to  the  purists  in  genteel  English.  How  much 
of  the  droll  quaintness  of  Yankee  dialect  comes  from  the  stum- 
bling of  human  nature  into  these  racy  mistakes  will  never  be 
known. 

Perhaps  my  readers  may  have  turned  over  a  great,  flat  stone 
some  time  in  their  rural  rambles,  and  found  under  it  little  clovers 
and  tufts  of  grass  pressed  to  earth,  flat,  white,  and  bloodless,  but 
still  growing,  stretching,  creeping  towards  the  edges,  where  their 
plant  instinct  tells  them  there  is  light  and  deliverance.  The 
kind  of  life  that  the  little  Tina  led,  under  the  care  of  Miss  As 
phyxia,  resembled  that  of  these  poor  clovers.  It  was  all  shut 
down  and  repressed,  but  growing  still.  She  was  roused  at  the 
first  glimmer  of  early  dawn,  dressing  herself  in  the  dark,  and, 
coming  out,  set  the  table  fl*  breakfast.  From  that  time  through 
the  day,  one  task  followed  another  in  immediate  succession,  with 
the  sense  of  the  ever-driving  Miss  Asphyxia  behind  her. 

Once,  in  the  course  of  her  labors,  she  let  fall  a  saucer,  while 


MISS   ASPHYXIA'S   SYSTEM.  119 

Miss  Asphyxia,  by  good  fortune,  was  out  of  the  room.  To  tell 
of  her  mischance,  and  expose  herself  to  the  awful  consequences 
of  her  anger,  was  more  than  her  childish  courage  was  eqnal  to ; 
and,  with  a  quick  adroitness,  she  slipped  the  broken  fragments  in 
a  crevice  between  the  kitchen  doorstep  and  the  house,  and  en- 
deavored to  look  as  if  nothing  had  occurred.  Alas !  she  had  not 
counted  on  Miss  Asphyxia's  unsleeping  vigilance  of  hearing. 
She  was  down  stairs  in  a  trice. 

"  What  have  you  been  breaking  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  ma'am,"  was  the  trembling  response. 

"  Don't  tell  me !    I  heard  something  fall." 

"I  think  it  must  have  been  the  tongs,"  said  the  little  girl, — 
not  over-wise  or  ingenious  in  her  subterfuge. 

"  Tongs !  likely  story,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  keenly  running 
her  eye  over  the  cups  and  saucers. 

"  One,  two,  —  here  's  one  of  the  saucers  gone.  What  have 
you  done  with  it  ?  " 

The  child,  now  desperate  with  fear,  saw  no  refuge  but  in  per- 
sistent denial,  till  Miss  Asphyxia,  seizing  her,  threatened  imme- 
diate whipping  if  she  did  not  at  once  jconfess. 

"  I  dropped  a  saucer,"  at  last  said  the  frightened  child. 

"  You  did,  you  little  slut  ?  "  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  administering 
a  box  on  her  ear.  "  Where  is  it  ?  what  have  you  done  with  the 
pieces  ?  " 

"I  dropped  them  down  by  the  doorstep,"  said  the  sobbing 
culprit. 

Miss  Asphyxia  soon  fished  them  up,  and  held  them  up  in  awful 
judgment.  "  You  've  been  telling  me  a  lie,  —  a  naughty,  wicked 
lie,"  she  said.  "  I  '11  soon  cure  you  of  lying.  I  '11  scour  your 
mouth  out  for  you."  And  forthwith,  taking  a  rag  with  some  soap 
and  sand,  she  grasped  the  child's  head  under  her  arm,  and  rubbed 
the  harsh  mixture  through  her  mouth  with  a  vengeful  energy. 
"  There,  now,  see  if  you  '11  tell  me  another  lie,"  said  she,  push- 
ing her  from  her.  "Don't  you  know  .where  liars  go  to,  you 
naughty,  wicked  girl  ?  '  All  liars  .shall  have  their  part  in  the 
lake  that  burns  with  fire  and  brimstone,'  —  that 's  what  the  Bible 
says ;  and  you  may  thank  me  for  keeping  you  from  going  there. 


120  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

Now  go  and  get  up  the  potatoes  and  wash  'em,  and  don't  let  me 
get  another  lie  out  of  your  mouth  as  long  as  you  live." 

There  was  a  burning  sense  of  shame  —  a  smothered  fury  of 
resentment  —  in  the  child's  breast,  and,  as  she  took  the  basket, 
she  felt  as  if  she  would  have  liked  to  do  some  mischief  to  Miss 
Asphyxia.  "  I  hate  you,  I  hate  you,  I  hate  you,"  she  said  to 
herself  when  she  got  into  the  cellar,  and  fairly  out  of  hearing.  "  I 
hate  you,  and  when  I  get  to  be  a  woman,  I  '11  pay  you  for  all  this." 

Miss  Asphyxia,  however,  went  on  her  way,  in  the  testimony 
of  a  good  conscience.  She  felt  that  she  had  been  equal  to  the 
emergency,  and  had  met  a  crisis  in  the  most  thorough  and  effect- 
ual manner. 

The  teachers  of  district  schools  in  those  days  often  displayed 
a  singular  ingenuity  in  the  invention  of  punishments  by  which 
the  different  vices  of  childhood  should  be  repressed ;  and  Miss 
Asphyxia's  housewifely  confidence  in  soap  and  sand  as  a  means 
of  purification  had  suggested  to  her  this  expedient  in  her  school- 
teaching  days.  "You  can  break  any  child  o'  lying,  right  off 
short,"  she  was  wont  to  say.  "  Jest  scour  their  mouths  out  with 
soap  and  sand.  They  never  want  to  try  it  more  'n  once  or  twice, 
I  tell  you." 

The  intervals  which  the  child  had  for  play  were,  in  Miss  As- 
phyxia's calendar,  few  and  far  between.  Sometimes,  when  she 
had  some  domestic  responsibility  on  her  mind  which  made  the 
watching  of  the  child  a  burden  to  her,  she  would  say  to  her, 
"  You  may  go  and  play  till  I  call  you,"  or,  "  You  may  play  for 
half  an  hour ;  but  you  must  n't  go  out  of  the  yard." 

Then  the  child,  alone,  companionless,  without  playthings, 
sought  to  appropriate  to  herself  some  little  treasures  and  posses- 
sions for  the  instituting  of  that  fairy  world  of  imagination  which 
belongs  to  childhood.  She  sighed  for  a  doll  that  had  once  be- 
longed to  her  in  the  days  when  she  had  a  mother,  but  which 
Miss  Asphyxia  had  contemptuously  tossed  aside  in  making  up 
her  bundle. 

Left  thus  to  her  own  resources,  the  child  yet  showed  the  un- 
quenchable love,  of  beauty,  and  the  power  of  creating  and  gilding 
an  imaginary  little  world,  which  is  the  birthright  of  childhood. 


MISS   ASPHYXIA'S    SYSTEM.  121 

She  had  her  small  store  of  what  she  had  been  wont  to  call  pretty 
things,  —  a  broken  teapot  handle,  a  fragment  of  colored  glass, 
part  of  a  goblet  that  had  once  belonged  to  Miss  Asphyxia's  treas- 
ures, one  or  two  smooth  pebbles,  and  some  red  berries  from  a 
wild  rose-bush.  These  were  the  darlings,  the  dear  delights  of 
her  heart,  —  hoarded  in  secret  places,  gazed  on  by  stealth,  taken 
out  and  arranged  and  re-arranged,  during  the  brief  half-hours, 
or  hours,  when  Miss  Asphyxia  allowed  her  to  play.  To  these 
treasures  the  kindly  Sol  added  another  ;  for  one  day,  when  Miss 
Asphyxia  was  not  looking,  he  drew  from  his  vest-pocket  a  couple 
of  milkweed  pods,  and  said,  "  Them  's  putty,  —  mebbe  ye  'd  like 
'em ;  hide  'em  up,  though,  or  she  '11  sweep  'em  into  the  fire." 

No  gloss  of  satin  and  glimmer  of  pearls  ever  made  bright  eyes 
open  wider  than  did  the  exploring  the  contents  of  these  pods. 
It  was  silk  and  silver,  fairy-spun  glass,  —  something  so  bright 
and  soft  that  it  really  seemed  dear  to  her;  and  she  took  the 
shining  silk  fringes  out  and  caressed  them  against  her  cheek, 
and  wrapped  them  in  a  little  bit  of  paper,  and  put  them  in  her 
bosom.  They  felt  so  soft  and  downy,  —  they  were  so  shining 
and  bright,  —  and  they  were  her  own,  —  Sol  had  given  them  to 
her.  She  meditated  upon  them  as  possessions  of  mysterious 
beauty  and  unknown  value.  Unfortunately,  one  day  Miss  As- 
phyxia discovered  her  gazing  upon  this  treasure  by  stealth  dur- 
ing her  working  hours. 

"  What  have  you  got  there  ?  "  she  said.     "  Bring  it  to  me." 

The  child  reluctantly  placed  her  treasure  in  the  great  bony 
claw. 

"  Why,  that 's  milkweed  silk,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia.  "  T  ain't 
good  for  nothin'.  What  you  doing  with  that  ?  " 

"  I  like  it  because  it 's  pretty." 

"  Fiddlestick ! "  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  giving  it  a  contemptuous 
toss.  "  I  can't  have  you  making  litter  with  such  stuff  round  the 
house.  Throw  it  in  the  fire." 

To  do  Miss  Asphyxia  justice,  she  would  never  have  issued 
this  order  if  she  had  had  the  remotest  conception  how  dear  this 
apparent  trash  was  to  the  hopeless  little  heart. 

The  child  hesitated,  and  held  her  treasure  firmly.     Her  breast 


122  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

heaved,  and  there  was  a  desperate  glare  in  her  soft  hazel 
eyes. 

"  Throw  it  in  the  fire,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  stamping  her  foot, 
as  she  thought  she  saw  risings  of  insubordination. 

The  child  threw  it  in,  and  saw  her  dear,  beautiful  treasure 
slowly  consumed,  with  a  swelling  and  indignant  heart.  She  was 
now  sure  that  Miss  Asphyxia  hated  her,  and  only  sought  occa- 
sion to  torment  her. 

Miss  Asphyxia  did  not  hate  the  child,  nor  did  she  love  her. 
She  regarded  her  exactly  as  she  $id  her  broom  and  her  rolling- 
pin  and  her  spinning-wheel,  —  as  an  implement  or  instrument 
which  she  was  to  fashion  to  her  uses.  She  had  a  general  idea, 
too,  of  certain  duties  to  her  as  a  human  being,  which  she  ex- 
pressed by  the  phrase,  "  doing  right  by  her,"  —  that  is,  to  feed 
and  clothe  and  teach  her.  In  fact,  Miss  Asphyxia  believed  fully 
in  the  golden  rule  of  doing  as  she  would  be  done  by ;  but  if  a 
lioness  should  do  to  a  young  lamb  exactly  as  she  would  be 
done  by,  it  might  be  all  the  worse  for  the  lamb. 

The  little  mind  and  heart  were  awakened  to  a  perfect  burning 
conflict  of  fear,  shame,  anger,  and  a  desire  for  revenge,  which 
now  overflowed  with  strange,  bitter  waters  that  hitherto  igno- 
rantly  happy  valley  of  child-life.  She  had  never  had  any  sense 
of  moral  or  religious  obligation,  any  more  than  a  butterfly  or  a 
canary-bird.  She  had,  it  is  true,  said  her  little  prayers  every 
night ;  but,  as  she  said  to  herself,  she  had  always  said  them  to 
mother  or  Harry,  and  now  there  was  nobody  to  say  them  to. 
Every  night  she  thought  of  this  when  she  lay  down  in  her  joy- 
less, lonesome  bed;  but  the  kindly  fatigue  which  hard  work 
brings  soon  weighed  down  her  eyes,  and  she  slept  soundly  all 
night,  and  found  herself  hungry  at  breakfast-time  the  next  morn- 
ing. 

On  Sunday  Miss  Asphyxia  rested  from  her  labors,  —  a  strange 
rest  for  a  soul  that  had  nothing  to  do  in  the  spiritual  world. 
Miss  Asphyxia  was  past  middle  life,  and,  as  she  said,  had 
never  experienced  religion,  —  a  point  which  she  regarded  with 
some  bitterness,  since,  as  she  was  wont  to  say,  she  had  always 
been  as  honest  in  her  dealings  and  kept  Sunday  as  strict  as  most 


MISS  ASPHYXIA'S   SYSTEM.  123 

church-members.  Still,  she  would  do  her  best  at  giving  religious 
instruction  to  the  child ;  and  accordingly  the  first  Sunday  she  was 
dressed  in  her  best  frock,  and  set  up  in  a  chair  to  be  kept  still 
while  the  wagon  was  getting  ready  to  "go  to  rneetin',"  and 
Miss  Asphyxia  tried  to  put  into  her  head  the  catechism  made  by 
that  dear,  friendly  old  lover  of  children,  Dr.  Watts. 

But  somehow  the  first  question,  benignly  as  it  is  worded,  had 
a  grim  and  threatening  sound  as  it  came  from  the  jaws  of  Miss 
Asphyxia,  somewhat  thus :  "  Stop  playing  with  your  frock,  and 
look  right  at  me,  now.  '  Can  you  tell  me,  dear  child,  who  made 
you?'" 

Now  the  little  one  had  often  heard  this  point  explained,  but 
she  felt  small  disposition  to  give  up  her  knowledge  at  this  de- 
mand ;  so  she  only  looked  at  Miss  Asphyxia  in  sulky  silence. 

"  Say,  now,  after  me/'  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  " '  The  great  God 
that  made  heaven  and  earth.' " 

The  child  repeated  the  words,  in  that  mumbling,  sulky  man- 
ner which  children  use  when  they  are  saying  what  does  not 
please  them. 

"  Tina  Percival,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  in  warlike  tones,  "  do 
you  speak  out  plain,  or  I  '11  box  yer  ears." 

Thus  warned,  the  child  uttered  her  confession  of  faith  audibly 
enough. 

Miss  Asphyxia  was  peculiarly  harsh  and  emphatic  on  the  an- 
swer which  described  the  omnipresence  of  the  Supreme  Being, 
and  her  harsh  voice,  croaking,  "  If  I  tell  a  lie,  He  sees  me,  — If  I 
speak  an  idle  or  wicked  word,  He  hears  me,"  seemed  to  the  child 
to  have  a  ghastly  triumph  in  it  to  confirm  the  idea  that  Miss  As- 
phyxia's awful  tyranny  was  thoroughly  backed  up  by  that  of  a 
Being  far  more  mighty,  and  from  whom  there  was  no  possible 
escape.  Miss  Asphyxia  enforced  this  truth  with  a  coarse  and 
homely  eloquence,  that  there  was  no  getting  away  from  God,  — 
that  He  could  see  in  the  night  just  as  plain  as  in  the  daytime,  — 
see  her  in  the  yard,  see  her  in  the  barn,  eee  her  under  the  bed, 
see  her  down  cellar ;  and  that  whenever  she  did  anything  wrong 
He  would  write  it  down  in  a  dreadful  book,  and  on  the  Day  of 
Judgment  she  would  have  it  all  brought  out  upon  her,  —  all  which 


124  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

the  child  heard  with  a  stony,  sullen  despair.  Miss  Asphyxia 
illustrated  what  became  of  naughty  children  by  such  legends  as 
the  story  of  the  two  she-bears  which  came  out  of  a  wood  and 
tare  forty -and-two  children  who  mocked  at  old  Elisha,  till  the  re- 
bellious auditor  quaked  in  her  little  shoes,  and  wondered  if  the 
bears  would  get  Harry,  and  if  Harry,  after  all,  would  not  find 
some  way  to  get  round  the  bears  and  come  to  her  help. 

At  meeting  she  at  last  saw  Harry,  seated,  however,  in  a  distant 
part  of  the  house  ;  but  her  heart  was  ready  to  jump  out  of  her 
breast  to  go  to  him ;  and  when  the  services  were  over  she  con- 
trived to  elude  Miss  Asphyxia,  and,  passing  through  the  throng, 
seized  his  hand  just  as  he  was  going  out,  and  whispered,  "  0 
Harry,  Harry,  I  do  want  to  see  you  so  much !  Why  don't  you 
come  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  They  would  n't  let  me,  Tina,"  said  Harry,  drawing  his  sister 
into  a  little  recess  made  between  the  church  and  the  horse-block, 
—  an  old-fashioned  structure  that  used  to  exist  for  the  accommo- 
dation of  those  who  came  to  church  on  horseback.  "  They  won't 
let  me  come.  I  wanted  to  come,  —  I  wanted  to  see  you  so  much  ! " 

"  O  Harry,  I  don't  like  her,  —  she  is  cross  to  me.  Do  take 
me  away,  —  do,  Harry  !  Let 's  run  away  together." 

"  Where  could  we  go,  Tina  ?  " 

"  O,  somewhere,  —  no  matter  where.  I  hate  her.  I  won't  stay 
with  her.  Say,  Harry,  I  sleep  in  a  little  room  by  the  kitchen ; 
come  to  my  window  some  night  and  take  me  away." 

"Well,  perhaps  I  will." 

"  Here  you  are,  you  little  minx,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia.  "  What 
you  up  to  now  ?  Come,  the  waggin  's  waiting,"  —  and,  with  a  look 
of  severe  suspicion  directed  to  Harry,  she  seized  the  child  and 
conveyed  her  to  the  wagon,  and  was  soon  driving  off  with  all 
speed  homeward. 

That  evening  the  boy  pondered  long  and  soberly.  He  had 
worked  well  and  steadily  during  the  week,  and  felt  no  dis- 
position to  complain  of  his  lot  on  that  account,  being,  as  we 
have  said,  of  a  faithful  and  patient  nature,  and  accepting  what 
the  friendly  hired  men  told  him,  —  that  work  was  good  for  little 
boys,  that  it  would  make  him  grow  strong,  and  that  by  and  by 


MISS   ASPHYXIA'S   SYSTEM.  125 

he  would  be  grown  up  and  able  to  choose  his  own  work  and  mas- 
ter. But  this  separation  from  his  little  sister,  and  her  evident 
nnhappiness,  distressed  him ;  he  felt  that  she  belonged  to  him, 
and  that  he  must  care  for  her,  and  so,  when  he  came  home,  he 
again  followed  Goody  Smith  to  the  retirement  of  her  milk-room. 

The  poor  woman  had  found  a  perfect  summer  of  delight  in  her 
old  age  in  having  around  her  the  gentle-mannered,  sweet-spoken, 
good  boy,  who  had  thus  marvellously  fallen  to  her  lot ;  and  bound- 
less was  the  loving-kindness  with  which  she  treated  him.  Sweet- 
cakes  were  slipped  into  his  hands  at  all  odd  intervals,  choice  mor- 
sels set  away  for  his  consumption  in  secret  places  of  the  buttery, 
and  many  an  adroit  lie  told  to  Old  Crab  to  secure  for  him  extra 
indulgences,  or  prevent  the  imposition  of  extra  tasks ;  and  many 
a  little  lie  did  she  recommend  to  him,  at  which  the  boy's  honest 
nature  and  Christian  education  inclined  him  greatly  to  wonder. 

That  a  grown-up,  good  old  woman  should  tell  lies,  and  advise 
little  boys  to  tell  them,  was  one  of  those  facts  of  human  experi- 
ence which  he  turned  over  in  his  mind  with  wonder,  —  thinking 
it  over  with  that  quiet  questioning  which  children  practise  who 
have  nobody  of  whom  they  dare  make  many  inquiries.  But  to- 
day he  was  determined  to  have  something  done  about  Tina,  and 
so  he  began,  "  Please,  won't  you  ask  him  to  let  me  go  and  see 
Tina  to-night  ?  It 's  Sunday,  and  there  is  n't  any  work  to  do." 

"  Lordy  massy,  child,  he  's  crabbeder  Sundays  than  any  other 
day,  he  has  so  much  time  to  graowl  round.  He  drinks  more 
cider ;  and  Sunday  night  it 's  always  as  much  as  a  body's  life  's 
worth  to  go  near  him.  I  don't  want  you  to  get  him  sot  agin  ye. 
He  got  sot  agin  Obed  ;  and  no  critter  knows  why,  except  mebbe 
'cause  he  was  some  comfort  to  me.  And  ye  oughter  seen  how 
he  used  that  'ere  boy.  Why,  I  've  stood  here  in  the  milk-room 
and  heerd  that  'ere  boy's  screeches  clear  from  the  stun  pastur'. 
Finally  the  men,  they  said  they  could  n't  stan'  it,  nor  they 
would  n't." 

"  Who  was  Obed  ?  "  said  Harry,  fearfully. 

"  Lordy  massy !  wal,  I  forgot  ye  did  n't  know  Obed.  He  was 
the  baby,  ye  see.  He  was  born  the  eighteenth  of  April,  just 
about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  Aunt  Jerusha  Periwinkle 


126  OLDTOWK   FOLKS. 

and  Granny  Watkins,  they  said  they  had  n't  seen  no  sich  child 
in  all  their  missing.  Held  up  his  head  jest  as  lively,  and  sucked 
his  thumb,  he  did, — jest  the  patientest,  best  baby  ye  ever  did  see, 
—  and  growed  beautiful.  And  he  was  gettin'  to  be  a  real  beau- 
tiful young  man  when  he  went  off." 

"Went  off?"  said  Harry. 

"  Yes,  he  went  off  to  sea,  jest  for  nothin'  but  'cause  his  father 
aggravated  him  so." 

"  What  was  the  matter  ?  what  did  he  do  it  for  ?  " 

"  Wai,  Obed,  he  was  allers  round  helpin'  me,  —  he  'd  turn  the 
cheeses  for  me,  and  draw  the  water,  and  was  always  on  hand 
when  I  wanted  a  turn.  And  he  took  up  agin  him,  and  said  we 
was  both  lazy,  and  that  I. kept  him  round  waitin'  on  me ;  and  he 
was  allers  a  throwin'  it  up  at  me  that  I  thought  more  of  Obed 
than  I  did  of  him ;  and  one  day  flesh  and  blood  could  n't  stan' 
it  no  longer.  I  got  clear  beat  out,  and  says  I,  '  Well,  father,  why 
should  n't  I  ?  Obed  's  allers  a  tryin'  to  help  me  and  make  my 
work  easy  to  me,  and  thinkin'  what  he  can  do  for  me ;  and  he  's 
the  greatest  comfort  of  my  life,  and  it  ain't  no  sin  if  I  do  think 
more  on  him  than  I  do  of  other  folks.'  Wai,  that  very  day  he 
went  and  picked  a  quarrel  with  him,  and  told  him  he  was  going 
to  give  him  a  stand-up  thrashing.  And  Obed,  says  he,  '  No, 
father,  that  you  sha'  n't.  I  'm  sixteen  year  old,  and  I  've  made 
up  my  mind  you  sha'  n't  thrash  me  no  more.'  And  with  that  he 
says  to  him,  '  Gfet  along  out  of  my  house,  you  lazy  dog,'  says  he ; 
'  you  've  been  eatin'  of  my  bread  too  long,'  says  he.  '  Well,  father, 
I  will,'  says  Obed.  And  he  walks  up  to  me  and  kisses  me,  and 
says  he,  '  Never  mind,  mother,  I  'ni  going  to  come  home  one  of 
these  days  and  bring  money  enough  to  take  care  of  you  in  your 
old  age ;  and  you  shall  have  a  house  of  your  own,  and  sha'  n't 
have  to  work ;  and  you  shall  sit  in  your  satin  gown  and  drink 
your  tea  with  white  sugar  every  day,  and  you  sha'  n't  be  no  man's 
slave.  You  see  if  I  don't.'  With  that  he  turned  and  was  off, 
and  I  hain't  never  seen  him  since." 

"  How  long 's  he  been  gone  ?  " 

"  Wai,  it 's  four  years  come  next  April.  I  've  hed  one  or 
two  letters  from  him,  and  he's  ris'  to  be  mate.  And  he  sent 


ASPHYXIA'S   SYSTEM.  127 

me  his  wages,  —  biggest  part  on  'em,  —  but  lie  lied  to  git  'em  to 
me  round  by  sendin  on  em  to  Ebal  Parker ;  else  he  'd  a  took 
'em,  ye  see.  I  could  n't  have  nothin'  decent  to  wear  to  meetin', 
nor  my  little  caddy  o'  green  tea,  if'  it  had  n't  been  for  Obed.  He 
won't  read  Obed's  letters,  nor  hear  a  word  about  him,  and  keeps 
a  castin'  it  up  at  me  that  I  think  so  much  of  Obed  that  I  don't 
love  him  none." 

"  I  should  n't  think  yon  would,"  said  the  boy,  innocently. 

<;  Wai,  folks  seems  to  think  that  you  must  love  'ein  through 
thick  and  thin,  and  I  try  ter.  I  've  allers  kep'  his  clothes 
mended,  and  his  stockings  darned  up,  and  two  or  three  good  pair 
ahead,  and  done  for  him  jest  the  best  I  know  how ;  but  as  to 
lovin'  folks  when  they 's  so  kind  o'  as  he  is,  I  don't  redly  know 
how  ter.  Expect,  ef  he  was  to  be  killed,  I  should  feel  putty 
bad,  too,  —  kind  o'  used  to  havin'  on  him  round." 

This  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  voice  of  Crab,  in  the 
following  pleasing  style  jof  remark :  "  What  the  devil  be  you  a 
doin'  with  that  boy,  —  keepin'  him  from  his  work  there  ?  It 's 
time  to  be  to  the  barn  seein'  to  the  critters.  Here,  you  young 
sdamp,  go  out  and  cut  some  feed  for  the  old  mare.  Suppose  I 
keep  you  round  jest  to  eat  up  the  victuals  and  be  round  under 
folks'  feet  ?  " 


128  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

CHAPTER    XI. 

THE    CRISIS. 

MATTERS  between  Miss  Asphyxia  and  her  little  subject 
began  to  show  evident  signs  of  approaching  some  crisis, 
for  which  that  valiant  virgin  was  preparing  herself  with  mind 
resolved.  It  was  one  of  her  educational  tactics  that  children,  at 
greater  or  less  intervals,  would  require  what  she  was  wont  to 
speak  of  as  good  whippings,  as  a  sort  of  constitutional  stimulus 
to  start  them  in  the  ways  of  well-doing.  As  a  school-teacher, 
she  was  often  fond  of  rehearsing  her  experiences,  —  how  she  had 
her  eye  on  Jim  or  Bob  through  weeks  of  growing  carelessness 
or  obstinacy  or  rebellion,  suffering  the  measure  of  iniquity  gradu- 
ally to  become  full,  until,  in  an  awful  hour,  she  pounced  down  on 
the  culprit  in  the  very  blossom  of  his  sin,  and  gave  him  such  a 
lesson  as  he  would  remember,  as  she  would  assure  him,  the  long- 
est day  he  had  to  live. 

The  burning  of  rebellious  thoughts  in  the  little  breast,  of  inter- 
nal hatred  and  opposition,  could  not  long  go  on  without  slight 
whiffs  of  external  smoke,  such  as  mark  the  course  of  subterra- 
nean fire.  As  the  child  grew  more  accustomed  to  Miss  Asphyxia, 
while  her  hatred  of  her  increased,  somewhat  of  that  native  hardi- 
hood which  had  characterized  her  happier  days  returned ;  and 
she  began  to  use  all  the  subtlety  and  secretiveness  which  be- 
longed to  her  feminine  nature  in  contriving  how  not  to  do  the 
will  of  her  tyrant,  and  yet  not  to  seem  designedly  to  oppose.  It 
really  gave  the  child  a  new  impulse  in  living  to  devise  little  plans 
for  annoying  Miss  Asphyxia  without  being  herself  detected.  In 
all  her  daily  toils  she  made  nice  calculations  how  slow  she  could 
possibly  be,  how  blundering  and  awkward,  without  really  bring- 
ing on  herself  a  punishment ;  and  when  an  acute  and  capable 
child  turns  all  its  faculties  in  such  a  direction,  the  results  may  be 
very  considerable. 


THE   CRISIS.  129 

Miss  Asphyxia  found  many  things  going  wrong  in  her  estab- 
lishment in  most  unaccountable  ways.  One  morning  her  sensi- 
bilities were  almost  paralyzed,  on  opening  her  milk-room  door,  to 
find  there,  with  creamy  whiskers,  the  venerable  Tom,  her  own 
model  cat,  —  a  beast  who  had  grown  up  in  the  very  sanctities  of 
household  decorum,  and  whom  she  was  sure  she  had  herself  shut 
out  of  the  house,  with  her  usual  punctuality,  at  nine  o'clock  the 
evening  before.  She  could  not  dream  that  he  had  been  enticed 
through  Tina's  window,  caressed  on  her  bed,  and  finally  sped 
stealthily  on  his  mission  of  revenge,  while  the  child  returned  to 
her  pillow  to  gloat  over  her  success. 

Miss  Asphyxia  also,  in  more  than  one  instance,  in  her  rapid 
gyrations,  knocked  down  and  destroyed  a  valuable  bit  of  pottery 
or  earthen-ware,  that  somehow  had  contrived  to  be  stationed 
exactly  in  the  wind  of  her  elbow  or  her  hand.  It  was  the  more 
vexatious  because  she  broke  them  herself.  And  the  child  as- 
sumed stupid  innocence :  "  How  could  she  know  Miss  Sphyxy 
was  coming  that  way  ?  "  or,  "  She  did  n't  see  her."  True,  she 
caught  many  a  hasty  cuff  and  sharp  rebuke;  but,  with  true 
Indian  spirit,  she  did  not  mind  singeing  her  own  fingers  if  she 
only  tortured  her  enemy. 

It  would  be  an  endless  task  to  describe  the  many  vexations 
that  can  be  made  to  arise  in  the  course  of  household  experience 
when  there  is  a  shrewd  little  elf  watching  with  sharpened  faculties 
for  every  opportunity  to  inflict  an  annoyance  or  do  a  mischief. 
In  childhood  the  passions  move  with  a  simplicity  of  action  un- 
known to  any  other  period  of  life,  and  a  child's  hatred  and  a 
child's  revenge  have  an  intensity  of  bitterness  entirely  unal- 
loyed by  moral  considerations ;  and  when  a  child  is  without  an 
object  of  affection,  and  feels  itself  unloved,  its  whole  vigor  of 
being  goes  into  the  channels  of  hate. 

Religious  instruction,  as  imparted  by  Miss  Asphyxia,  had 
small  influence  in  restraining  the  immediate  force  of  passion. 
That  "the  law  worketh  wrath"  is  a  maxim  as  old  as  the  times 
of  the  Apostles.  The  image  of  a  dreadful  Judge  —  a  great  God, 
with  ever-watchful  eyes,  that  Miss  Asphyxia  told  her  about  — 
roused  that  combative  element  in  the  child's  heart  which  says  in 


130  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

the  heart  of  the  fool,  «  There  is  no  God."  «  After  all,"  thought 
the  little  sceptic,  "  how  does  she  know  ?  She  never  saw  him." 
Perhaps,  after  all,  then,  it  might  be  only  a  fabrication  of  her 
tyrant  to  frighten  her  into  submission.  There  was  a  dear  Father 
that  mamma  used  to  tell  her  about ;  and  perhaps  he  was  the  one, 
after  all.  As  for  the  bear  story  she  had  a  private  conversa- 
tion with  Sol,  and  was  relieved  by  his  confident  assurance  that 
there  "  had  n't  been  no  bears  seen  round  in  them  parts  these 
ten  year  " ;  so  that  she  was  safe  in  that  regard,  even  if  she  should 
call  Miss  Asphyxia  a  bald-heajtl,  which  she  perfectly  longed  to  do, 
just  to  see  what  would  come  of  it. 

In  like  manner,  though  the  story  of  Ananias  and  Sapphira, 
struck  down  dead  for  lying,  had  been  told  her  in  forcible  and 
threatening  tones,  yet  still  the  little  sinner  thought  within  herself 
that  such  things  must  have  ceased  in  our  times,  as  she  had  told 
more  than  one  clever  lie  which  neither  Miss  Asphyxia  nor  any 
one  else  had  found  out. 

In  fact,  the  child  considered  herself  and  Miss  Asphyxia  as  in 
a  state  of  warfare  which  suspends  all  moral  rules.  In  the  stoiies 
of  little  girls  who  were  taken  captives  by  goblins  or  giants  or 
witches,  she  remembered  many  accounts  of  sagacious  deceptions 
which  they  had  practised  on  their  captors.  Her  very  blood  tin- 
gled when  she  thought  of  the  success  of  some  of  them,  —  how 
Hensel  and  Grettel  had  heated  an  oven  red-hot,  and  persuaded 
the  old  witch  to  get  into  it  by  some  cock-and-bull  story  of  what 
she  would  find  there ;  and  how,  the  minute  she  got  in,  they  shut 
up  the  oven  door,  and  burnt  her  all  up  !  Miss  Asphyxia  thought 
the  child  a  vexatious,  careless,  troublesome  little .  baggage,  it  is 
true  ;  but  if  she  could  have  looked  into  her  heart  and  seen  her 
imaginings,  she  would  probably  have  thought  her  a  little  fiend. 

At  last,  one  day,  the  smothered  fire  broke  out.  The  child  had 
had  a  half-hour  of  holiday,  and  had  made  herself  happy  in  it  by 
furbishing  up  her  little  bedroom.  She  had  picked  a  peony,  a 
yellow  lily,  and  one  or  two  blue  irises,  from  the  spot  of  flowers 
in  the  garden,  and  put  them  in  a  tin  dipper  on  the  table  in  her 
room,  and  ranged  around  them  her  broken  bits  of  china,  her  red 
berries  and  fragments  of  glass,  in  various  zigzags.  The  spirit 


THE    CRISIS. 

of  adornment  thus  roused  within  her,  she  remembered  having 
seen  her  brother  make  pretty  garlands  of  oak-leaves ;  and,  run- 
ning out  to  an  oak  hard  by,  she  stripped  off  an  apronful  of  the 
leaves,  and,  sitting  down  in  the  kitchen  door,  began  her  attempts 
to  plait  them  into  garlands.  She  grew  good-natured  and  happy 
as  she  wrought,  and  was  beginning  to  find  herself  in  charity  even 
with  Miss  Asphyxia,  when  down  came  that  individual,  broom  in 
hand,  looking  vengeful  as  those  old  Greek  Furies  who  used  to 
haunt  houses,  testifying  their  wrath  by  violent  sweeping. 

"  What  under  the  canopy  you  up  to  now,  making  such  a  litter 
on  my  kitchen  floor  ?  "  she  said.  "  Can't  I  leave  you  a  minute 
'thout  your  gettin'  into  some  mischief,  I  want  to  know  ?  Pick 
'em  up,  every  leaf  of  'em,  and  carry  'em  and  throw  'em  over  the 
fence ;  and  don't  you  never  let  me  find  you  bringing  no  such  rub- 
bish into  my  kitchen  agin  !  " 

In  this  unlucky  moment  she  turned,  and,  looking  into  the  little 
bedroom,  whose  door  stood  open,  saw  the  arrangements  there. 
"What!'"'  she  said;  "you  been  getting  down  the  tin  cup  to 
put  your  messes  into  ?  Take  'ein  all  out !  "  she  said,  seizing  the 
flowers  with  a  grasp  that  crumpled  them,  and  throwing  them  into 
the  child's  apron.  "  Take  'em  away,  every  one  of  'em  !  You  'd 
get  everything  out  of  place,  from  one  end  of  the  house  to  the 
other,  if  I  did  n't  watch  you  !  "  And  forthwith  she  swept  off  the 
child's  treasures  into  her  dust-pan. 

In  a  moment  all  the  smothered  wrath  of  weeks  blazed  up  in 
the  little  soul.  She  looked  as  if  a  fire  had  b^en  kindled  in  her 
which  reddened  her  cheeks  and  burned  in  her  eyes  ;  and,  rushing 
blindly  at  Miss  Asphyxia,  she  cried,  "  You  are  a  wicked  woman, 
a  hateful  old  witch,  and  I  hate  you  !  " 

"  Hity-tity !  I  thought  I  should  have  to  give  you  a  lesson 
before  long,  and  so  I  shall,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  seizing  her  with 
stern  determination.  "  You  've  needed  a  good  sound  whipping 
for  a  long  time,  miss,  and  you  are  going  to  get  it  now.  I  '11  whip 
you  so  that  you'll  remember  it,  I  '11  promise  you." 

And  Miss  Asphyxia  kept  her  word,  though  the  child,  in  the 
fury  of  despair,  fought  her  with  tooth  and  nail,  and  proved  her- 
self quite  a  dangerous  little  animal ;  but  at  length  strength  got 


132  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

the  better  in  the  fray,  and,  sobbing,  though  unsubdued,  the  little 
culprit  was  put  to  bed  without  her  supper. 

In  those  days  the  literal  use  of  the  rod  in  the  education  of  chil- 
dren was  considered  as  a  direct  Bible  teaching.  The  wisest,  the 
most  loving  parent  felt  bound  to  it  in  many  cases,  even  though 
every  stroke  cut  into  his  own  heart.  The  laws  of  New  England 
allowed  masters  to  correct  their  apprentices,  and  teachers  their 
pupils,  —  and  even  the  public  whipping-post  was  an  institution  of 
New  England  towns.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  therefore,  that 
Miss  Asphyxia  regarded  herself  otherwise  than  as  thoroughly 
performing  a  most  necessary  duty.  She  was  as  ignorant  of  the 
blind  agony  of  mingled  shame,  wrath,  sense  of  degradation,  and 
burning  for  revenge,  which  had  been  excited  by  her  measures,  as 
the  icy  east  wind  of  Boston  flats  is  of  the  stinging  and  shivering 
it  causes  in  its  course.  Is  it  the  wind's  fault  if  your  nose  is 
frozen  ?  There  is  not  much  danger  in  these  days  that  such  meas- 
ures will  be  the  fashionable  ones  in  the  bringing  up  of  children. 
But  there  is  a  class  of  coldly-conscientious,  severe  persons,  who 
still,  as  a  matter  of  duty  and  conscience,  justify  measures  like 
these  in  education.  They,  at  all  events,  are  the  ones  who  ought 
to  be  forbidden  to  use  them,  and  whose  use  of  them  with  chil- 
dren too  often  proves  a  soul-murder,  —  a  dispensation  of  wrath 
and  death.  Such  a  person  is  commonly  both  obtuse  in  sensibility 
and  unimaginative  in  temperament ;  but  if  his  imagination  could 
once  be  thoroughly  enlightened  to  see  the  fiend-like  passions,  the 
terrific  convulsion?,  which  are  roused  in  a  child's  soul  by  the  irri- 
tation and  degradation  of  such  correction,  he  would  shrink  back 
appalled.  With  sensitive  children  left  in  the  hands  of  stolid  and 
unsympathizing  force,  such  convulsions  and  mental  agonies  often 
are  the  beginning  of  a  sort  of  slow  moral  insanity  which  gradu- 
ally destroys  all  that  is  good  in  the  soul.  Such  was  the  danger 
now  hanging  over  the  hapless  little  one  whom  a  dying  mother 
had  left  to  God.  Is  there  no  stirring  among  the  angel  wings  on 
her  behalf  ? 

As  the  child  lay  sobbing  in  a  little  convulsed  heap  in  her  bed, 
a  hard,  horny  hand  put  back  the  curtain  of  the  window,  and  the 
child  felt  something  thrown  on  the  bed.  It  was  Sol,  who,  on 


THE   CRISIS.  loo 

coming  in  to  bis  supper,  had  heard  from  Miss  Asphyxia  the 
whole  story,  and  who,  as  a  matter  of  course,  sympathized  entirely 
with  the  child.  lie  had  contrived  to  slip  a  doughnut  into  his 
pocket,  when  his  hostess  was  looking  the  other  way.  When  the 
child  rose  up  in  the  bed  and  showed  her  swelled  and  tear-stained 
face,  Sol  whispered  :  '  There 's  a  doughnut  I  saved  for  ye.  Darn 
her  pictur' !  Don't  dare  say  a  word,  yc  know.  She  '11  hear  me." 

"  O  Sol,  can't  you  get  Harry  to  come  here  and  see  me  ?  "  said 
the  child,  in  an  earnest  whisper. 

"  Yes,  I  '11  get  him,  if  I  have  to  go  to  thunder  for  't,"  said  Sol. 
"You  jest  lie  down  now,  there  's  a  good  girl,  and  I  '11  work  it, — 
ye  see  if  I  don't.  To-morrow  I  '11  make  her  go  off  to  the 
store,  and  I  '11  get  him  down  here,  you  see  if  I  don't.  It  's  a  tar- 
nal  shame ;  that  'ere  critter  ain't  got  no  more  bowels  than  a  file." 

The  child,  however,  was  comforted,  and  actually  went  to  sleep 
hugging  the  doughnut.  She  felt  as  if  she  loved  Sol,  and  said  so 
to  the  doughnut  many  times,  —  although  he  had  great  horny  fists, 
and  eyes  like  oxen.  With  these,  he  had  a  heart  in  his  bosom, 
and  the  child  loved  him. 


134  OLDTOWN  FOLKS.  I 

CHAPTER    XII. 

THE     LION'S    MOUTH     SHUT. 

"  "1VTO  W,  where  a  plague  is  that  boy  ?  "  said  Old  Crab,  suddenly 
-L- ^  bearing  down,  as  evil-disposed  people  are  always  apt  to  do, 
in  a  most  unforeseen  moment. 

The  fact  was  that  there  had  been  ^a  silent  conspiracy  among 
Sol  and  Goody  Smith  and  the  hired  men  of  Old  Crab,  to  bring 
about  a  meeting  between  the  children.  Miss  Asphyxia  had  been 
got  to  the  country  store  and  kept  busy  with  various  bargains 
which  Sol  had  suggested,  and  Old  Crab  had  been  induced  to  go 
to  mill,  and  then  the  boy  had  been  sent  by  Goody  Smith  on  an 
errand  to  Miss  Asphyxia's  house.  Of  course  he  was  not  to  find 
her  at  home,  and  was  to  stay  and  see  his  sister,  and  be  sure  and 
be  back  again  by  four  o'clock. 

"  Where  a  plague  is  that  lazy  shote  of  a  boy  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  What,  Harry  ?  " 

"Yes,  Harry.  Who  do  you  suppose  I  mean?  Harry,  —  where 
is  he?" 

"  O,  I  sent  him  up  to  Sphyxy's." 

"You  sent  him?"  said  Old  Crab, with  that  kind  of  tone  which 
sounds  so  much  like  a  blow  that  one  dodges  one's  head  involun- 
tarily. "  You  sent  him  ?  What  busiaess  you  got  interfering  in 
the  work  ?  " 

"Lordy  massy,  father,  I  jest  wanted  Sphyxy's  cards  and 
some  o'  that  'ere  fillin'  she  promised  to  give  me.  He  won't  be 
gone  long." 

Old  Crab  stood  at  this  disadvantage  .in  his  fits  of  ill-temper 
with  his  wife,  that  there  was  no  form  of  evil  language  or  abuse 
that  he  had  not  tried  so  many  times  on  her  that  it  was  quite  a 
matter  of  course  for  her  to  hear  it.  He  had  used  up  the  English 
language,  —  made  it,  in  fact,  absolutely  of  no  effect,  —  while  his 
fund  of  ill-temper  was,  after  all,  but  half  expressed. 


THE   LION'S   MOUTH   SHUT.  135 

"  You  've  begun  with  that  'ere  boy  just  as  you  allers  did  with 
all  your  own,  gettin'  'em  to  be  a  waitin'  round  on  you,  —  jest 
'cause  you  're  a  lazy  good-for-nothin'.  We  're  so  rich,  I  wonder 
you  don't  hire  a  waiter  for  nothin'  but  to  stan'  behind  your  chair. 
I  '11  teach  him  who  his  master  is  when  he  comes  back." 

"  Now,  father,  't  ain't  no  fault  o'  his'n.     /sent  him." 

"  And  1  sot  him  to  work  in  the  fields,  and  I  'd  like  to  know  if 
he 's  goin'  to  leave  what  I  set  him  to  do,  and  go  round  after  your 
errands.  Here  't  is  gettin'  to  be  'most  five  o'clock,  and  the  crit- 
ters want  fodderin',  and  that  'ere  boy  a  dancing  'tendance  on  you. 
But  he  ain't  a  doin'  that.  He  's  jest  off  a  berryin'  or  suthin'  with 
that  trollopin'  sister  o'  his'n, — jes'  what  you  bring  on  us,  takin' 
in  trampers.  That  'ere  gal,  she  pesters  Sphyxy  half  to  death." 

"  Sphyxy  's  pretty  capable  of  takin'  care  of  herself, "  said 
Goody  Smith,  still  keeping  busy  with  her  knitting,  but  looking 
uneasily  up  the  road,  where  the  form  of  the  boy  might  be  ex- 
pected to  appear. 

The  outbreak  that  she  had  long  feared  of  her  husband's  evil 
nature  was  at  hand.  She  knew  it  by  as  many  signs  as  one  fore- 
tells the  approach  of  hurricanes  or  rain-storms.  She  knew  it  by 
the  evil  gleam  in  his  small,  gray  eyes,  —  by  the  impatient  pacing 
backward  and  forward  in  the  veranda,  like  a  caged  wild  animal. 
It  made  little  matter  to  him  what  the  occasion  was :  he  had  such 
a  superfluity  of  evil  temper  to  vent,  that  one  thing  for  his  pur- 
pose was  about  as  good  as  another. 

It  grew  later  and  later,  and  Old  Crab  went  to  the  barn  to  at- 
tend to  his  cattle,  and  the  poor  little  old  woman  knitted  uneasily. 

"  What  could  V  kep'  him?"  she  thought.  "He  can't  'a'  run 
off."  There  was  a  sudden  gleam  of  mingled  pleasure  and  pain  in 
the  old  woman's  heart  as  this  idea  darted  through  her  mind.  "  I 
should  n't  wonder  if  he  would,  but  I  kind  o'  hate  to  part  with 
him." 

At  last  she  sees  him  coming  along  the  road,  and  runs  to  meet 
him.  "  How  could  you  be  so  late  ?  He  's  drefful  mad  with  ye." 

"  I  did  n't  know  how  late  it  was.  Besides,  all  I  could  do,  Tina 
would  follow  me,  and  I  had  to  turn  back  and  carry  her  home. 
Tina  has  bad  times  there.  That  woman  is  n't  kind  to  her." 


136  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

"  No,  dear,  she  ain't  noways  kind,"  said  the  old  woman ;  "  it 
ain't  Sphyxy's  way  to  be  kind ;  but  she  '11  do  iniddlin'  well  by 
her,  —  anyway,  she  won't  let  nobody  hurt  her  but  herself.  It 's 
a  hard  world  to  live  in ;  we  have  to  take  it  as  't  comes." 

"  Well,  anyway,"  said  the  boy,  "  they  must  let  us  go  to  see 
each  other.  It  is  n't  right  to  keep  us  apart." 

"  No,  't  ain't,  dear  ;  but  lordy  massy,  what  can  ye  do?  " 

There  was  a  great  steady  tear  in  the  boy's  large,  blue  eyes  as 
he  stopped  at  the  porch,  and  he  gave  a  sort  of  dreary  shiver. 

"  Halleoah  you  there  !  you  lazy  little  cuss,"  said  Old  Crab, 
coming  from  the  barn,  '"where  you  been  idling  all  the  after- 
noon ?  " 

"  I  Ve  been  seeing  my  sister,"  said  the  boy,  steadily. 

"  Thought  so.  Where  's  them  cards  and  the  fillin'  you  was 
sent  for  ?  " 

"  There  was  n't  anybody  at  home  to  get  them." 

"And  why  did  n't  you  come  right  back,  you  little  varmint?" 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  see  Tina.  She  's  my  sister ;  and  my 
mother  told  me  to  take  care  of  her ;  and  it 's  wicked  to  keep  us 
apart  so." 

"  Don't  you  give  me  none  of  yer  saace,"  said  Old  Crab,  seizing 
the  boy  by  one  ear,  to  which  he  gave  a  vicious  wrench.  $ 

"  Let  me  alone,"  said  the  boy,  flushing  up  with  the  sudden  irri- 
tation of  pain  and  the  bitter  sense  of  injustice. 

"  Let  you  alone  ?  I  guess  I  won't ;  talking  saace  to  me  that 
'ere  way.  Guess  I  '11  show  you  who  's  master.  It 's  time  you 
was  walked  off  down  to  the  barn,  sir,  and  find  out  who  's  your 
master,"  he  said,  as  he  seized  the  boy  by  the  collar  and  drew 
him  off. 

"  O  Lord ! "  said  the  woman,  running  out  and  stretching  her 
hands  instinctively  after  them.  "  Father,  do  let  the  boy  alone." 

She  could  not  help  this  cry  any  more  than  a  bird  can  help  a 
shriek  when  she  sees  the  hawk  pouncing  down  on  her  nest, 
though  she  knew  perfectly  well  that  she  might  as  well  have 
shouted  a  petition  in  the  angry  face  of  the  northeast  wind. 

"Take  off  your  jacket,"  said  Old  Crab,  as  soon  as  he  had 
helped  himself  to  a  long  cart-whip  which  stood  there. 


THE  LION'S  MOUTH  SHUT.  137 

The  boy  belonged  to  that  class  of  amiable,  good-natured  chil- 
dren who  are  not  easily  irritated  or  often  provoked,  but  who, 
when  moved  by  a  great  injustice  or  cruelty,  are  thrown  into  con- 
vulsions of  passion.  The  smallest  and  most  insignificant  animal, 
in  moments  of  utter  despair,  when  every  fibre  of  its  being  is 
made  vital  with  the  energy  of  desperate  resistance,  often  has  a 
force  which  will  make  the  strongest  and  boldest  stand  at  bay. 
The  boy  retreated  a  pace  or  two,  braced  his  back  against  the 
manger,  while  his  whole  form  trembled  and  appeared  to  dilate, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  blue  streams  of  light  glared  from  his  eyes 
like  sparks  struck  from  burning  steel. 

"  Strike  me  if  you  dare,  you  wicked,  dreadful  man,"  he 
shouted.  "  Don't  you  know  that  God  sees  you  ?  God  is  my 
Father,  and  my  mother  is  gone  to  God ;  and  if  you  hurt  me 
He  '11  punish  you.  You  know  I  have  n't  done  anything  wrong, 
and  God  knows  it.  Now  strike  me  if  you  dare." 

The  sight  of  any  human  being  in  a  singular  and  abnormal 
state  has  something  appalling  about  it ;  and  at  this  moment  the 
child  really  appeared  to  Old  Crab  like  something  supernatural. 
He  stood  a  moment  looking  at  him,  and  then  his  eyes  suddenly 
seemed  fixed  on  something  above  and  beyond  him,  for  he  gazed 
with  a  strange,  frightened  expression ;  and  at  last,  pushing  with 
his  hands,  called  out,  "  Go  along ;  get  away,  get  away !  I 
hain't  touched  him,"  and,  turning,  fled  out  of  the  barn. 

He  did  not  go  to  the  house  again,  but  to  the  village  tavern, 
and,  entering  the  bar-room  with  a  sort  of  distraught  air,  called 
for  a  dram,  and  passed  the  evening  in  a  cowering  state  of  quiet 
in  the  corner,  which  was  remarked  on  by  many  as  singular. 

The  boy  came  back  into  the  house. 

"  Massy  to  us,  child,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  I  thought  he  'd 
half  killed  ye." 

u  No,  he  has  n't  touched  me.  God  would  n't  let  him,"  said  the 
boy. 

';  Well,  I  declare  for 't !  he  must  have  sent  the  angels  that 
shut  the  lion's  mouth  when  Daniel  was  in  the  den,"  said  the 
woman.  "I  wouldn't  V  had  him  struck  ye,  not  for  ten  dol- 
lars." 


188  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

The  moon  was  now  rising,  large,  white,  and  silvery,  yet  with  a 
sort  of  tremulous,  rosy  flush,  as  it  came  up  in  the  girdle  of  a 
burning  autumn  horizon.  The  boy  stood  a  moment  looking  at  it. 
His  eyes  were  still  dilated  with  that  unnatural  light,  and  his  lit- 
tle breast  heaving  with  waves  of  passion  not  yet  tranquillized. 

"  Which  way  did  he  go  ?  "  said  the  woman. 

"  Up  the  road,"  said  the  boy. 

"  To  the  tavern,"  said  the  woman.  "  He  's  been  there  before 
this  afternoon.  At  any  rate,  then,  he  '11  let  us  alone  awhile. 
There  comes  the  men  home  to  supper.  Come  in ;  I  've  got  a 
turnover  I  made  a  purpose  for  ye." 

"  No,  I  must  bid  you  good  by,  now,"  said  the  boy.  "  I  can't 
stay  here  any  longer." 

"  Why,  where  be  ye  going  ?  " 

"  Going  to  look  for  a  better  place,  where  I  can  take  care  of 
Tina,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Ye  ain't  a  going  to  leave  me  ?  "  said  the  old  woman.  "  Yet 
I  can't  want  ye  to  stay,  /can't  have  nothin'  nor  nobody." 

"I'll  come  back  one  of  these  days,"  said  the  boy  cheerfully, — 
"  come  and  see  you." 

"  Stay  and  get  your  supper,  anyhow,"  pleaded  the  old  woman. 
"  I  hate  ter  have  ye  go,  drefful  bad." 

"  I  don't  want  any  supper,"  said  the  child ;  "  but  if  you  '11  give 
me  a  little  basket  of  things,  —  I  want  'em  for  Tina." 

The  old  soul  ran  to  her  buttery,  and  crammed  a  small  splint 
basket  with  turnovers,  doughnuts,  and  ample  slices  of  rye  broad 
and  butter,  and  the  boy  took  it  and  trudged  off,  just  as  the  hired 
men  were  coming  home. 

"  Hulloah,  bub  !  "  shouted  they,  "  where  ye  goin'  ?  " 

"  Going  to  seek  my  fortune,"  said  the  boy  cheerfully. 

"  Jest  the  way  they  all  go,"  said  the  old  woman. 

"  Where  do  you  suppose  the  young  im  '11  fetch  up  ?  "  said  ono 
of  the  men  to  the  other. 

"  No  business  of  mine,  —  can't  fetch  up  wus  than  he  has  ben 
a  doin'." 

"  Old  Crab  a  cuttin'  up  one  of  his  shines,  I  s'pose  ?  "  said  the 
other,  interrogatively. 


THE  LION'S  MOUTH   SHUT.  139 

"  Should  n't  wonder ;  'bout  time,  —  ben  to  the  tavern  this  ar- 
ternoon,  I  reckon." 

The  boy  walked  along  the  rough  stony  road  towards  Miss  As- 
phyxia's farm.  It  was  a  warm,  mellow  evening  in  October. 
The  air  had  only  a  pleasant  coolness.  Everything  was  tender 
and  bright.  A  clump  of  hickory-trees  on  a  rocky  eminence  be- 
fore him  stood  like  pillars  of  glowing  gold  in  the  twilight ;  one 
by  one  little  stars  looked  out,  winking  and  twinkling  at  the  lonely 
child,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  with  a  friendly,  encouraging  ray,  like 
his  mother's  eyes. 

That  afternoon  he  had  spent  trying  to  comfort  his  little  sister, 
and  put  into  her  soul  some  of  the  childlike  yet  sedate  patience 
with  which  he  embraced  his  own  lot,  and  the  good  hopes  which 
he  felt  of  being  able  some  time  to  provide  for  her  when  he  grew 
bigger.  But  he  found  nothing  but  feverish  impatience,  which 
all  his  eloquence  could  scarcely  keep  within  bounds.  He  had, 
however,  arranged  with  her  that  he  should  come  evenings  after 
she  had  gone  to  bed,  and  talk  to  her  at  the  window  of  her  bed- 
room, that  she  should  not  be  so  lonesome  nights.  The  perfectly 
demoniac  violence  which  Old  Crab  had  shown  this  night  had 
determined  him  not  to  stay  with  him  any  longer.  He  would 
take  his  sister,  and  they  would  wander  off,  a  long,  long  way,  till 
they  came  to  better  people,  and  then  he  would  try  again  to  get 
work,  and  ask  some  good  woman  to  be  kind  to  Tina.  Such,  in 
substance,  was  the  plan  that  occurred  to  the  child ;  and  accord- 
ingly that  night,  after  little  Tina  had  laid  her  head  on  her  lonely 
pillow,  she  heard  a  whispered  call  at  her  window.  The  large, 
bright  eyes  opened  very  wide  as  she  sat  up  in  bed  and  looked 
towards  the  window,  where  Harry's  face  appeared. 

"It's  me,  Tina,  —  I've  come  back, — be  very  still.  I'm  going 
to  stay  in  the  barn  till  everybody 's  asleep,  and  then  I  '11  come  and 
wake  you,  and  you  get  out  of  the  window  and  come  with  me." 

"  To  be  sure  I  will,  Harry.  Let  me  come  now,  and  sleep  with 
you  in  the  barn." 

"  No,  Tina,  that  would  n't  do  ;  lie  still.  They  'd  see  us.  Wait 
till  everybody  's  asleep.  You  just  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep.  I  '11 
get  in  at  your  window  and  waken  you  when  it 's  time." 


140  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  the  child's  room  was  opened ;  the 
boy's  face  was  gone  in  an  instant  from  the  window.  The  child's 
heart  was  beating  like  a  trip-hammer ;  there  was  a  tingling  in 
her  ears  ;  but  she  kept  her  little  eyes  tightly  shut. 

"  0,  here  's  that  brown  towel  I  gin  her  to  hem,"  said  Miss  As- 
phyxia, peacefully.  "  She  's  done  her  stent  this  arternoon.  That 
'ere  whipping  did  some  good." 

"You  '11  never  whip  me  again,"  thought  the  defiant  little  heart 
under  the  bedclothes. 

*  *  *  *  *    . 

Old  Crab  came  home  that  night  thoroughly  drunk,  —  a  thing 
that  did  not  very  often  occur  in  his  experience.  He  commonly 
took  only  just  enough  to  keep  himself  in  a  hyena's  state  of  tem- 
per, but  not  enough  to  dull  the  edge  of  his  cautious,  grasping, 
money-saving  faculties.  But  to-night  he  had  had  an  experience 
that  had  frightened  him,  and  driven  him  to  deeper  excess  as  a 
refuge  from  thought. 

When  the  boy,  upon  whom  he  was  meaning  to  wreak  his  dia- 
bolic passions,  so  suddenly  turned  upon  him  in  the  electric  fury 
of  enkindled  passion,  there  was  a  sort  of  jar  or  vibration  of  the 
nervous  element  in  the  man's  nature,  that  brought  about  a  result 
not  uncommon  to  men  of  his  habits.  As  he  was  looking  in  a 
sort  of  stunned,  stupid  wonder  at  the  boy,  where  he  stood  braced 
against  the  manger,  he  afterwards  declared  that  he  saw  suddenly 
in  the  dark  space  above  it,  hovering  in  the  air,  the  exact  figure 
and  form  of  the  dead  woman  whom  they  had  buried  in  the  grave- 
yard only  a  few  weeks  before.  "  Her  eyes  was  looking  right  at 
me,  like  live  coals,"  he  said ;  "  and  she  had  up  her  hand  as  if 
she  'd  'a'  struck  me ;  and  I  grew  all  over  cold  as  a  stone." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  't  was  ?  "   said  his  auditor. 

"  How  should  I  know,"  said  Old  Crab.  "  But  there  I  was ; 
and  that  very  night  the  young  'un  ran  off.  I  would  n't  have 
tried  to  get  him  back,  not  for  my  right  hand,  I  tell  you.  Tell 
you  what,"  he  added,  rolling  a  quid  of  tobacco  reflectively  in  his 
mouth,  "/don't  like  dead  folks.  Ef  dead  folks '11  let  me  alone, 
I  '11  let  them  alone.  That  'ere  's  fair,  ain't  it  ?  " 


THE  EMPTY   BIKD'S-NEST.  141 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE     EMPTY    BIRD'S-NEST. 

THE  next  morning  showed  as  brilliant  a  getting  up  of  gold 
and  purple  as  ever  belonged  to  the  toilet  of  a  morning. 
There  was  to  be  seen  from  Miss  Asphyxia's  bedroom  window  a 
brave  sight,  if  there  had  been  any  eyes  to  enjoy  it,  —  a  range  of 
rocky  cliffs  with  little  pin-feathers  of  black  pine  upon  them,  and 
behind  them  the  sky  all  aflame  with  bars  of  massy  light,  —  orange 
and  crimson  and  burning  gold,  —  and  long,  bright  rays,  darting 
hither  and  thither,  touched  now  the  window  of  a  farm-house, 
which  seemed  to  kindle  and  flash  back  a  morning  salutation; 
now  they  hit  a  tall  scarlet  maple,  and  now  they  pierced  between 
clumps  of  pine,  making  their  black  edges  flame  with  gold ;  and 
over  all,  in  the  brightening  sky,  stood  the  morning  star,  like  a 
great,  tremulous  tear  of  light,  just  ready  to  fall  on  a  darkened 
world. 

Not  a  bit  of  all  this  saw  Miss  Asphyxia,  though  she  had  looked 
straight  out  at  it.  Her  eyes  and  the  eyes  of  the  cow,  who,  with 
her  horned  front,  was  serenely  gazing  out  of  the  barn  window  on 
the  same  prospect,  were  equally  unreceptive. 

She  looked  at  all  this  solemn  pomp  of  gold  and  purple,  and 
the  mysterious  star,  and  only  said  :  "  Good  day  for  killin'  the 
hog,  and  I  must  be  up  gettin'  on  the  brass  kettle.  I  should  like 
to  know  why  Sol  ain't  been  a  stirrin'  an  hour  ago.  I  'd  really 
like  to  know  how  long  folks  would  sleep  ef  I  'd  let  'em." 

Here  an  indistinct  vision  came  into  Miss  Asphyxia's  mind  of 
what  the  world  would  be  without  her  to  keep  it  in  order.  She 
called  aloud  to  her  prime  minister,  who  slept  in  the  loft  above, 
"Sol!  Sol!  You  awake?" 

"  Guess  I  be,"  said  Sol ;  and  a  thundering  sound  of  cowhide 
boots  on  the  stairs  announced  that  Sol's  matutinal  toilet  was 
complete. 


142  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  We  're  late  this  morning,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  in  a  tone  of 
virtuous  indignation. 

"  Never  knowed  the  time  when  we  wa'  n't  late,"  said  Sol,  com- 
posedly. 

"  You  thump  on  that  'ere  child's  door,  and  tell  her  to  be  lively," 
said  Miss  Asphyxia. 

"  Yaas  'm,  I  will,"  said  Sol,  while  secretly  he  was  indulging  in 
a  long  and  low  chuckle,  for  Sol  had  been  party  to  the  fact  that 
the  nest  of  that  young  bird  had  been  for  many  hours  forsaken. 
He  had  instructed  the  boy  what  road  to  take,  and  bade  him  "  walk 
spry  and  he  would  be  out  of  the  parish  of  Needmore  afore  day- 
break. Walk  on,  then,  and  follow  the  road  along  the  river,"  said 
Sol,  "  and  it  '11  bring  you  to  Oldtown,  where  our  folks  be.  You 
can't  miss  your  victuals  and  drink  any  day  in  Oldtown,  call  at 
what  house  you  may  ;  and  ef  you  's  to  get  into  Deacon  Badger's, 
why,  your  fortin  's  made.  The  Deacon  he  's  a  soft-spoken  man 
to  everybody,  —  white  folks,  niggers,  and  Indians,  —  and  Ma'arn 
Badger  keeps  regular  poor-man's  tavern,  and  won't  turn  even  a 
dog  away  that  behaves  himself.  Ye  could  n't  light  on  wus  than 
ye  have  lit  on,  —  for  Old  Crab  's  possessed  of  a  devil,  everybody 
knows ;  and  as  for  Miss  Asphyxia,  she  's  one  of  the  kind  of  sperits 
that  goes  walkin'  through  dry  places  seekin'  rest  and  findin'  none. 
Lordy  massy,  an  old  gal  like  her  ain't  nobody  to  bring  up  a  child. 
It  takes  a  woman  that 's  got  juice  in  her  to  do  that.  Why,  that 
'ere  crittur  's  drier  'n  a  two-year-old  mullen-stalk.  There  ain't  no 
sap  ris  in  her  these  'ere  thirty  years.  She  means  well ;  but, 
lordy,  you  might  jest  as  well  give  young  turkey  chicks  to  the  old 
gobbler,  and  let  him  stram  off  in  the  mowin'  grass  with  'em,  as 
give  a  delicate  little  gal  like  your  sister  to  her  to  raise ;  so  you 
jest  go  long  and  keep  up  your  courage,  like  a  brave  boy  as  ye  be, 
and  you  '11  come  to  somethin'  by  daylight " ;  —  and  Sol  added  to 
these  remarks  a  minced  pie,  with  a  rye  crust  of  a  peculiarly  solid 
texture,  adapted  to  resist  any  of  the  incidents  of  time  and  travel, 
which  pie  had  been  set  out  as  part  of  his  own  last  night's  supper. 

When,  therefore,  he  was  exhorted  to  rap  on  the  little  girl's 
door,  he  gave  sundry  noisy,  gleeful  thumps,  —  pounding  with 
both  fists,  and  alternating  with  a  rhythmical  kick  of  the  cowhide 


THE  EMPTY   BIRD'S-XEST.  148 

boots,  calling  out  in  stentorian  tones :  "  Come,  little  un,  —  time 
you 's  up.  Miss  Sphyxy  's  comin?  down  on  ye.  Better  be 
lively  !  Bless  me,  how  the  gal  sleeps  ! " 

"  Don't  take  the  door  off  the  hinges,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia, 
sweeping  down  stairs.  "  Let  me  come ;  I  '11  wake  her,  I  guess !  " 
and  with  a  dipper  of  cold  water  in  her  hand,  Miss  Asphyxia 
burst  into  the  little  room.  "  What !  —  what !  —  where !  "  she 
said,  looking  under  the  bed,  and  over  and  around,  with  a  dazed 
expression.  "  What 's  this  mean  ?  Do  tell  if  the  child 's  re'lly 
for  once  got  up  of  herself  afore  I  called  her.  Sol,  see  if  she  's 
out  pickin'  up  chips  ! " 

Sol  opened  the  door  and  gazed  out  with  well-affected  stolidity 
at  the  wood-pile,  which,  garnished  with  a  goodly  show  of  large 
chips,  was  now  being  touched  up  and  brightened  by  the  first  rays 
of  the  morning  sun. 

"  Ain't  here,"  he  said. 

"  Ain't  here  ?  Why,  where  can  she  be  then  ?  There  ain't  no- 
body swallowed  her,  I  s'pose ;  and  if  anybody  's  run  off'  with 
her  in  the  night,  I  guess  they  'd  bring  her  back  by  daylight." 

«  She  must  V  run  off,"  said  Sol. 

"  Eun !     Where  could  she  'a'  run  to  ?  " 

"  Mebbe  she  's  gone  to  her  brother's^ 

"  I  bet  you,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  "  it 's  that  'ere  boy  that  'a 
the  bottom  of  it  all.  You  may  always  know  that  there  's  a  boy 
at  the  bottom,  when  there's  any  deviltry  up.  He  was  here 
yesterday,  —  now  wa'  n't  he  ?  " 

"  Wai,  I  reckon  he  was,"  said  Sol.  "  But,  massy,  Miss 
Sphyxy,  ef  the  pigs  is  to  be  killed  to-day,  we  can't  stan'  a  talkin' 
about  what  yon  nor  me  can't  help.  Ef  the  child 's  gone,  why 
she  's  somewhere  in  the  Lord's  world,  and  it 's  likely  she  '11  keep, 
—  she  won't  melt  away  like  the  manna  in  the  wilderness ;  and 
when  the  pigs  is  killed,  and  the  pork  salted  down  and  got  out  o' 
the  way,  it  '11  be  time  enough  to  think  o'  lookin'  on  her  up.  She 
wa'n't  no  gret  actual  use,  —  and  with  kettles  o'  hot  water  round, 
it 's  jest  as  well  not  to  have  a  child  under  yer  feet.  Ef  she  got 
scalded,  why,  there 's  your  time  a  taking  care  on  her,  and  mebbe 
a  doctor  to  pay ;  so  it 's  jest  as  well  that  things  be  as  they  be. 


144  OLDTOWX   FOLKS. 

1  call  it  kind  o'  providential,"  said  Sol,  giving  a  hoist  to  his 
breeches  by  means  of  a  tug  at  his  suspenders,  which  gesture 
was  his  usual  indication  that  he  was  girding  up  the  loins  of  his 
mind  for  an  immediate  piece  of  work ;  and,  turning  forthwith, 
lie  brought  in  a  mighty  armful  of  wood,  with  massive  back- 
log and  fore-stick,  well  grizzled  and  bearded  with  the  moss  that 
showed  that  they  were  but  yesterday  living  children  of  the 
forest. 

The  fire  soon  leaped  arid  crackled  and  roared,  being  well  fed 
with  choice  split  hickory  sticks  of  last  year,  of  which  Sol  kept 
ample  store  ;  and  very  soon  the  big  brass  kettle  was  swung  over, 
upon  the  old  iron  crane,  and  the  sacrificial  water  was  beginning 
to  simmer  briskly,  while  Miss  Asphyxia  prepared  breakfast,  not 
only  for  herself  and  Sol,  but  for  Primus  King,  a  vigorous  old 
negro,  famed  as  a  sort  of  high-priest  in  all  manner  of  butchering 
operations  for  miles  around.  Primus  lived  in  the  debatable  land 
between  Oldtown  and  Needmore,  and  so  was  at  the  call  of  all 
who  needed  an  extra  hand  in  both  parishes. 

The  appearance  of  Primus  at  the  gate  in  his  butcher's  frock, 
knife  in  hand,  in  fact  put  an  end,  in  Miss  Asphyxia's  mind,  to 
all  thoughts  apart  from  the  present  eventful  crisis  ;  and  she 
hastened  to  place  upon  the  table  the  steaming  sausages  which, 
with  her  usual  despatch,  had  been  put  down  for  their  morning 
meal.  A  mighty  pitcher  of  cider  flanked  this  savory  dish,  to 
which  Primus  rolled  delighted  eyes  at  the  moment  of  sitting 
down.  The  time  had  not  yet  dawned,  in  those  simple,  old  New 
England  days,  when  the  black  skin  of  the  African  was  held  to 
disqualify  him  from  a  seat  at  the  social  board  with  the  men  whom 
he  joined  in  daily  labor.  The  strength  of  the  arm,  and  the  skill 
of  the  hand,  and  the  willingness  of  the  mind  of  the  workman, 
in  those  days,  were  his  passport  to  equal  social  rights  ;  and  old 
Primus  took  rank,  in  the  butchering  season,  as  in  fact  a  sort  of 
leader  and  commander.  His  word  was  law  upon  all  steps  and 
stages  of  those  operations  which  should  transform  the  plethoric, 
obese  inhabitants  of  the  sty  into  barrels  of  pink-hued  salt-pork 
or  savory  hams  and  tenderloins  and  spareribs,  or  immense  messes 
of  sausage-meat. 


THE   EMPTY   BIRD'S-NEST.  145 

Concerning  all  these  matters,  Primus  was  an  oracle.  His  fer- 
vid Ethiopian  nature  glowed  with  a  broad  and  visible  delight,  his 
black  face  waxed  luminous  with  the  oil  of  gladness,  while  he 
dwelt  on  the  savory  subject,  whereon,  sitting  at  breakfast,  he 
dilated  with  an  unctuous  satisfaction  that  soothed  the  raven  down 
of  darkness  in  Miss  Asphyxia's  perturbed  mind,  till  something 
bearing  a  distant  analogy  to  a  smile  played  over  her  rugged  fea- 
tures. 


146  OLDTOWK  FOLKS. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE    DAY    IN    FAIRY-LAND. 

OUR  little  travellers,  meanwhile,  had  had  a  prosperous  jour- 
ney along  the  rocky  road  between  Needmore  and  Oldtown, 
in  which  Sol  had  planted  their  feet.  There  was  a  great,  round- 
orbed,  sober-eyed  October  moon  in  the  sky,  that  made  everything 
as  light  as  day ;  and  the  children  were  alive  in  every  nerve  with 
the  keen  interest  of  their  escape. 

"  We  are  going  just  as  Hensel  and  Grettel  did,"  said  the  little 
girl.  "  You  are  Hensel,  and  I  am  Grettel,  and  Miss  Asphyxia 
is  the  old  witch.  I  wish  only  we  could  have  burnt  her  up  in  her 
old  oven  before  we  came  away  !  " 

"  Now,  Tina,  you  must  n't  wish  such  things  really"  said  the 
boy,  somewhat  shocked  at  such  very  extreme  measures.  "  You 
see,  what  happens  in  stories  would  n't  do  really  to  happen." 

"  0,  bat  Harry,  you  don't  know  how  I  hate  —  how  I  h — ate — 
Miss  Sphyxy  !  I  hate  her  —  most  as  much  as  I  love  you  !  " 

"  But,  Tina,  mother  always  told  us  it  was  wicked  to  hate  any- 
body. We  must  love  our  enemies." 

"  You  don't  love  Old  Crab  Smith,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't ;  but  I  try  not  to  hate  him,"  said  the  boy.  "  I 
won't  think  anything  about  him." 

"  I  can't  help  thinking,"  said  Tina  ;  "  and  when  I  think,  I  am 
so  angry  !  I  feel  such  a  burning  in  here  !  "  she  said,  striking  her 
little  breast ;  "  it 's  just  like  fire  !  " 

"  Then  don't  think  about  her  at  all,"  said  the  boy  ;  "  it  is  n't 
pleasant  to  feel  that  way.  Think  about  the  whippoorwills  sing- 
ing in  the  woods  over  there,  —  how  plain  they  say  it,  don't  they  ? 
—  and  the  frogs,  all  singing,  with  their  little,  round,  yellow  eyes 
looking  up  out  of  the  water ;  and  the  moon  looking  down  on  us 
so  pleasantly  !  she  seems  just  like  mother  !  " 

"  0  Harry,  I  'm  so  glad,"  said  the  girl,  suddenly  throwing  her- 


THE  DAY  IN   FAIRY-LAND.  147 

self  on  his  neck  and  hugging  him,  —  "I  'm  so  glad  we  're  to- 
gether again  !  Was  n't  it  wicked  to  keep  us  apart,  —  we  poor 
children  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Tina,  I  am  glad,"  said  the  boy,  with  a  steady,  quiet, 
inward  sort  of  light  in  his  eyes ;  "  but,  baby,  we  can't  stop  to  say 
so  much,  because  we  must  walk  fast  and  get  way,  way,  way  off' 
before  daylight ;  arid  you  know  Miss  Sphyxy  always  gets  up 
early,  —  don't  she  ?  " 

"  O  dear,  yes  !  She  always  poked  me  out  of  bed  before  it  was 
light,  —  hateful  old  thing !  Let 's  run  as  fast  as  we  can,  and 
get  away ! " 

And  with  that  she  sprang  forward,  with  a  brisk  and  onward 
race,  over  the  pebbly  road,  down  a  long  hill,  laughing  as  she  went, 
and  catching  now  at  a  branch  of  sweetbrier  that  overhung  the 
road,  and  now  at  the  tags  of  sweet-fern,  both  laden  and  hoary 
with  heavy  autumnal  dews,  till  finally,  her  little  foot  tripping 
over  a  stone,  she  fell  and  grazed  her  arm  sadly.  Her  brother 
lifted  her  up,  and  wiped  the  tears  from  her  great,  soft  eyes  with 
her  blue  check  apron,  and  talked  to  her  in  that  grandfatherly  way 
that  older  children  take  such  delight  in  when  they  feel  the  care 
of  younger  ones. 

"  Now,  Tina,  darling,  you  should  n't  run  so  wild.  We  'd  bet- 
ter go  pretty  fast  steadily,  than  run  and  fall  down.  But  I  '11  kiss 
the  place,  as  mother  used  to." 

"  I  don't  mind  it,  Hensel,  —  I  don't  mind  it,"  she  said,  control- 
ling the  quivering  of  her  little  resolute  mouth.  "  That  scratch 
came  for  liberty  ;  but  this,"  she  said,  showing  a  long  welt  on  her 
other  arm,  —  "  this  was  slavery.  She  struck  me  there  with  her 
great  ugly  stick.  O,  I  never  can  forgive  her  !  " 

"  Don't  let 's  talk  any  more,  baby  ;  let 's  hurry  on.  She  never 
shall  get  you  again  ;  I  '11  fight  for  you  till  I  die,  first ! " 

"  You  'd  kill  'em  all,  would  n't  you  ?  You  would  have  knocked 
her  down,  wouldn't  you?"  said  Tina,  kindling  up  with  that 
inconsiderate  exultation  in  the  powers  of  an  elder  brother  which 
belongs  to  childhood.  "  I  knew  you  would  get  me  away  from 
here,  Harry,  —  I  knew  you  would." 

"  But  now,"  said  Harry,  "  you  just  keep  hold  of  my  hand,  and 


148  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

let 's  run  together,  and  J  '11  hold  you  up.  We  must  run  fast,  after 
all,  because  maybe  th  -jy  will  harness  up  the  wagon  when  day- 
light comes,  and  come  out  to  look  for  us." 

"  Well,  if  it 's  only  Sol  comes,"  said  the  little  girl,  "  I  sha'  n't 
care  ;  for  he  would  only  carry  us  on  farther." 

"  Ay,  but  you  may  be  sure  Miss  Asphyxia  would  come  her- 
self." 

The  suggestion  seemed  too  probable,  and  the  two  little  pairs 
of  heels  seemed  winged  by  it  as  they  flew  along,  their  long  shad- 
ows dancing  before  them  on  the  moonlit  road,  like  spiritual  con- 
ductors. They  made  such  good  headway  that  the  hour  which 
we  have  already  recorded,  when  Miss  Asphyxia's  slumbers  were 
broken,  found  the  pair  of  tiny  pilgrims  five  miles  away  on  the 
road  to  Oldtown. 

"  Now,  Tina,"  said  the  boy,  as  he  stopped  to  watch  the  long 
bars  of  crimson  and  gold  that  seemed  to  be  drawing  back  and 
opening  in  the  eastern  sky,  where  the  sun  was  flaring  upward  an 
expectant  blaze  of  glory,  "  only  look  there  !  Is  n't  it  so  wonder- 
ful ?  It 's  worth  being  out  here  only  to  see  it.  There  !  there  ! 
there !  the  sun  is  coming !  Look !  Only  see  that  bright-red 
maple, — it  seems  all  on  fire!  —  now  that  yellow  chestnut,  and 
that  old  pine-tree !  O,  see,  see  those  red  leaves !  They  are  like 
the  story  papa  used  to  tell  of  the  trees  that  bore  rubies  and 
emeralds.  Are  n't  they  beautiful  ?  " 

"  Set  me  on  the  fence,  so  as  I  can  see,"  said  Tina.  "  O  Harry, 
it 's  beautiful !  And  to  think  that  we  can  see  it  together !  " 

Just  at  this  moment  they  caught  the  distant  sound  of  wheels. 

"  Hurry,  Tina !  Let  me  lift  you  over  the  fence,"  said  the  boy ; 
"  they  are  coming  !  " 

How  the  little  hearts  beat,  as  both  children  jumped  down  into  a 
thicket  of  sweet-fern,  heavy  and  wet  with  morning  dew  !  The  lot 
was  one  of  those  confused  jungles  which  one  often  sees  hedging 
the  course  of  rivers  in  New  England.  Groups  of  pine  and  hem- 
lock grew  here  and  there,  intermixed  with  low  patches  of  swampy 
land,  which  were  waving  with  late  wild-flowers  and  nodding 
swamp-grasses.  The  children  tore  their  way  through  golden- 
rods,  asters,  and  cat-tails  to  a  little  elevated  spot  where  a  great, 


THE  DAY  IN   FAIRY-LAND.  149 

flat  rock  was  surrounded  by  a  hedge  of  white-pine.  This  was 
precisely  the  shelter  they  wanted ;  for  the  pines  grew  so  thickly 
around  it  as  completely  to  screen  it  from  sight  from  the  road, 
while  it  was  open  to  the  warm  beams  of  the  morning  sun. 

"  Cuddle  down  here,  Tina,"  said  Harry,  in  a  whispering  voice, 
as  if  he  feared  the  driver  in  the  rattling  farm-wagon  might  hear 
them. 

"  0,  what  a  nice  little  house  the  trees  make  here ! "  said  Tina. 
'•  We  are  as  snug  here  and  as  warm  as  can  be ;  and  only  see 
what  a  nice  white-and-green  carpet  there  is  all  over  the  rock ! " 

The  rock,  to  be  sure,  was  all  frothed  over  with  a  delicate  white 
foam  of  moss,  which,  later  in  the  clay,  would  have  crackled  and 
broken  in  brittle  powder  under  their  footsteps,  but  which  now, 
saturated  by  the  heavy  night-dews,  only  bent  under  them,  a  soft, 
elastic  carpet. 

Their  fears  were  soon  allayed  when,  peeping  like  scared 
partridges  from  their  cover,  they  saw  a  farm-wagon  go  rattling 
by  from  the  opposite  direction  to  that  in  which  Miss  Asphyxia 
lived. 

"  O,  it 's  nobody  for  us  ;  it  comes  the  other  way,"  said  the  boy. 

It  was,  in  fact,  Primus  King,  going  on  his  early  way  to  preside 
over  the  solemnities  of  pig-killing. 

"  Then,  Hensel,  we  are  free,"  said  the  little  girl ;  "  nobody  will 
catch  us  now.  They  could  no  more  find  us  in  this  lot  than  they 
could  find  a  little,  little  tiny  pin  in  the  hay-mow." 

"  No,  indeed,  Tina ;  we  are  safe  now,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Why  don't  you  call  me  Grettel  ?  We  will  play  be  Hensel 
and  Grettel ;  and  who  knows  what  luck  will  come  to  us  ?  " 

"Well,  Grettel  then,"  said  the  boy,  obediently.  "You  sit 
now,  and  spread  out  your  frock  in  the  sun  to  dry,  while  I  get  out 
some  breakfast  for  you.  Old  Aunty  Smith  has  filled  my  basket 
with  all  sorts  of  good  things." 

"  And  nice  old  Sol,  —  he  gave  us  his  pie,"  said  Tina.  "  I  love 
Sol,  though  he  is  a  funny-looking  man.  You  ought  to  see  Sol's 
hand,  it 's  so  big !  And  his  feet,  —  why,  one  of  his  shoes  would 
make  a  good  boat  for  me  !  But  he 's  a  queer  old  dear,  though, 
and  I  love  him." 


150  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  What  shall  we  eat  first  ?  "  said  the  boy,  —  "  the  bread  and 
butter,  or  the  cookies,  or  the  doughnuts,  or  the  pie  ?  " 

"  Let 's  try  a  little  of  all  of  them,"  said  young  madam. 

"  You  know,  Tina,"  said  the  boy,  in  a  slow,  considerate  way, 
"  that  we  must  take  care  of  this,  because  we  don't  know  when 
we  '11  get  any  more.  There  's  got  to  be  a  dinner  and  a  supper 
got  out  of  this  at  any  rate." 

"  O,  well,  Hensel,  you  do  just  as  you  please  with  it,  then ;  only 
let's  begin  with  Sol's  pie  and  some  of  that  nice  cheese,  for  I  am 
so  hungry  !  And  then,  when  we  have  had  our  breakfast,  I  mean 
to  lie  down  in  the  sun,  and  have  a  nap  on  this  pretty  white  moss. 
O  Harry,  how  pretty  this  moss  is  !  There  are  bright  little  red 
things  in  it,  as  bright  as  mother's  scarlet  cloak.  But,  O  Harry, 
look,  quick !  don't  say  a  word  !  There  's  a  squirrel !  How 
bright  his  little  eyes  are  !  Let 's  give  him  some  of  our  breakfast." 

Harry  broke  off  a  crumb  of  cake  and  threw  it  to  the  little 
striped-backed  stranger. 

"  Why,  he  's  gone  like  a  wink,"  said  the  girl.  "  Come  back, 
little  fellow ;  we  sha'  n't  hurt  you." 

"  O,  hush,  Tina,  he  's  coming  !  I  see  his  bright  eyes.  He  's 
watching  that  bit  of  cake." 

"  There,  he  's  got  it  and  is  off  !  "  said  Tina,  with  a  shriek  of 
delight.  "  See  him  race  up  that  tree  with  it !  " 

"  He  's  going  to  take  it  home  to  his  wife." 

"  His  wife !  "  said  Tina,  laughing  so  hard  at  Harry's  wit  that 
she  was  obliged  to  lay  down  her  pie.  "  Has  he  got  a  wife  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  he  has,"  said  Harry,  with  superior  wisdom. 

"  I  'm  your  wife,  ain't  I  ?  "  said  Tina,  contentedly. 

"  No.  You  're  my  little  sister,  and  I  take  care  of  you,"  said 
the  boy.  "  But  people  can't  have  their  sisters  for  wives ;  the 
Bible  says  so." 

"  Well,  I  can  be  just  like  your  wife;  and  I  '11  mend  your  clothes 
and  knit  your  stockings  when  I  get  bigger." 

To  which  practical  view  of  matrimonial  duties  Harry  gave  a 
grave  assent. 

Not  a  striped-backed  squirrel,  or  a  bobolinkxor  a  cat-bird,  in  the 
whole  pasture-lot,  had  better  spirits  than  our  two  little  travellers. 


THE  DAY  IN   FAIRY-LAND.  151 

They  were  free ;  they  were  together ;  the  sun  was  shining  and 
birds  were  singing ;  and  as  for  the  future,  it  was  with  them  as 
with  the  birds.  The  boy,  to  be  sure,  had  a  share  of  fore- 
thought and  care,  and  deemed  himself  a  grown  man  acting  with 
most  serious  responsibility  for  his  light-headed  little  sister ;  but 
even  in  him  this  was  only  a  half-awakening  from  the  dream-land 
of  childhood. 

"When  they  had  finished  their  breakfast,  he  bethought  him  of 
his  morning  prayers,  and  made  Tina  kneel  down  beside  him 
while  he  repeated  psalm  and  hymn  and  prayer,  in  which  she 
joined  with  a  very  proper  degree  of  attention.  When  he  had 
finished,  she  said,  "Do  you  know,  Hensel,  I  haven't  said  my 
prayers  a  single  once  since  I  've  been  at  Miss  Asphyxia's  ?  " 

"  Why,  Tina !  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  there  was  n't  anybody  to  say  them  to,  now 
mother  is  gone;  and  you  were  not  there." 

"  But  you  say  them  to  God,  Tina." 

"  O,  he  's  so  far  off,  and  I  'm  so  little,  I  can't  say  them  to  him. 
I  must  say  them  to  somebody  I  can  see.  Harry,  where  is  mother 
gone  ?  " 

"  She  is  gone  to  heaven,  Tina." 

"  Where  is  heaven  ?  " 

"  It 's  up  in  the  sky,  Tina,"  said  the  boy,  looking  up  into  the 
deep,  cloudless  blue  of  an  October  sky,  which,  to  say  the  truth, 
is  about  as  celestial  a  thing  as  a  mortal  child  can  look  into ; 
and  as  he  looked,  his  great  blue  eyes  grew  large  and  serious 
with  thoughts  of  his  mother's  last  wonderful  words. 

"  If  it 's  up  in  the  sky,  why  did  they  dig  down  into  the  ground, 
and  put  her  in  that  hole  ?"  said  the  little  sceptic. 

"  It  is  her  soul  that  went  up.  Her  body  is  planted  like  a  beau- 
tiful flower.  She  will  come  up  by  and  by ;  and  we  shall  see  her 
again,  if  we  are  good  children." 

Tina  lay  back  on  the  white  moss,  with  only  a  fringy  bough  of 
white-pine  between  her  and  the  deep,  eternal  blue,  where  the 
thinnest  films  of  white  clouds  were  slowly  sailing  to  and  fro. 
Her  spiritual  musings  grew,  to  say  the  truth,  rather  confused. 
She  was  now  very  tired  with  her  night  tramp;  and  the  long 


152  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

fringes  fell  over  her  great,  dark  eyes,  as  a  flower  shuts  itself,  and 
she  was  soon  asleep. 

The  boy  sat  watching  her  awhile,  feeling  soothed  by  the  calm, 
soft  sunshine,  and  listening  to  the  thousand  sweet  lullaby-notes 
which  Nature  is  humming  to  herself,  while  about  her  great  world- 
housework,  in  a  calm  October  morning.  The  locusts  and  katydids 
grated  a  drowsy,  continuous  note  to  each  other  from  every  tree 
and  bush ;  and  from  a  neighboring  thicket  a  lively-minded  cat- 
bird was  giving  original  variations  and  imitations  of  all  sorts  of 
bird  voices  and  warblings ;  while  from  behind  the  tangled  thicket 
which  fringed  its  banks  came  the  prattle  of  a  hidden  river, 
whose  bright  brown  waters  were  gossiping,  in  a  pleasant,  con- 
stant chatter,  with  the  many-colored  stones  on  the  bottom ;  and 
when  the  light  breezes  wandered  hither  and  thither,  as  your  idle 
breezes  always  will  be  doing,  they  made  little  tides  and  swishes 
of  sound  among  the  pine-trees,  like  the  rising  and  falling  of 
sunny  waters  on  the  sea-shore. 

Altogether,  it  was  not  long  before  Harry's  upright  watch  over 
his  sister  subsided  into  a  droop  upon  one  elbow,  and  finally  the 
little  curly  head  went  suddenly  down  on  to  his  sister's  shoulder ; 
and  then  they  were  fast  asleep, — as  nice  a  little  pair  of  babes  in 
the  wood  as  ever  the  robins  could  cover  up.  They  did  not  awake 
till  it  was  almost  noon.  The  sun  was  shining  warm  and  cloud- 
less, and  every  bit  of  dew  had  long  been  dried ;  and  Tina,  in 
refreshed  spirits,  proposed  thai  they  should  explore  the  wonders 
of  the  pasture-lot,  —  especially  that  they  should  find  out  where 
the  river  was  whose  waters  they  heard  gurgling  behind  the  leafy 
wall  of  wild  vines. 

"  We  can  leave  our  basket  here  in  our  little  house,  Hensel. 
See,  I  set  it  in  here,  way,  way  in  among  the  pine-trees ;  and 
that 's  my  little  green  closet." 

So  the  children  began  picking  their  way  through  the  thicket, 
guided  by  the  sound  of  the  water. 

"  0  Tina !  "  said  the  boy ;  "  look  there,  over  your  head  ! " 

The  object  pointed  out  was  a  bough  of  a  wild  grape-vine, 
heavily  laden  with  ripe  purple  grapes. 

"  0,  wild  grapes  !  "  said  Tina.-    "  Harry,  do  get  them  ! " 


THE  DAY  IN  FAIRY-LAND.  153 

Harry  soon  pulled  the  bough  down  within  reach,  and  the  chil- 
dren began  helping  themselves. 

"  I  'm  going  to  take  an  apronful  up  to  the  tree,  and  put  into 
our  closet,"  said  Tina ;  "  and  we  shall  have  a  nice  store  there." 

"  But,  Tina,  we  can't  live  there  on  the  rock,"  said  the  boy ; 
"  we  must  walk  on  and  get  to  Oldtown  some  time." 

"  O,  well,  we  have  the  whole  long,  long  day  for  it,"  said  the 
girl,  "  and  we  may  as  well  have  a  good  time  now ;  so,  when  I  've 
put  up  these  grapes,  we  '11  see  where  the  river  is." 

A  little  scrambling  and  tearing  through  vines  soon  brought  the 
children  down  to  the  banks  of  a  broad,  rather  shallow  river, 
whose  waters  were  of  that  lustrous  yellow-brown  which  makes 
every  stone  gleam  up  from  the  bottom  in  mellow  colors,  like  the 
tints  through  the  varnish  of  an  old  picture.  The  banks  were  a 
rampart  of  shrubbery  and  trees  hung  with  drapery  of  wild  vines, 
now  in  the  brilliancy  of  autumnal  coloring.  It  is  not  won- 
derful that  exclamations  of  delight  and  wonder  burst  from  both 
children.  An  old  hemlock  that  hung  slantwise  over  the  water 
opposite  was  garlanded  and  interwoven,  through  all  its  dusky 
foliage,  with  wreaths  and  pendants  of  the  Virginia  creeper,  now 
burning  in  the  brilliant  carmine  and  scarlet  hues  of  autumn. 
Great,  soft,  powdery  clumps  of  golden-rod  projected  their  heads 
from  the  closely  interwoven  thicket,  and  leaned  lovingly  over  the 
stream,  while  the  royal  purple  of  tall  asters  was  displayed  in 
bending  plumage  at  their  side.  Here  and  there,  a  swamp-maple 
seemed  all  one  crimson  flame  ;  while  greener  shrubbery  and 
trees,  yet  untouched  by  frosts,  rose  up  around  it,  as  if  purposely 
to  give  background  and  relief  to  so  much  color.  The  rippling 
surface  of  the  waters,  as  they  dashed  here  and  there  over  the 
stones,  gave  back  colored  flashes  from  the  red,  yellow,  crimson, 
purple,  and  green  of  the  banks;  while  ever  and  anon  little 
bright  leaves  came  sailing  down  the  stream,  all  moist  and  bril- 
liant, like  so  many  floating  gems.  The  children  clapped  their 
hands,  and  began,  with  sticks,  fishing  them  towards  the  shore. 
"  These  are  our  little  boats,"  they  said.  So  they  were,  —  fairy 
boats,  coming  from  the  land  of  nowhere,  and  going  on  to  oblivion, 
shining  and  fanciful,  like  the  little  ones  that  played  with  them. 
7* 


154  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Tina,  "  I  mean  to  take  off  my  shoes  and 
stockings,  and  wade  out  to  that  little  island  where  those  pretty 
white  stones  are.  You  go  with  me." 

"  Well,  Tina,  wait  till  I  can  hold  you." 

And  soon  both  the  little  pairs  of  white  feet  were  slipping  and 
spattering  among  the  pebbles  at  the  bottom.  On  the  way, 
Tina  made  many  efforts  to  entrap  the  bright  rings  of  sunlight  on 
the  bottom,  regardless  of  the  logic  with  which  Harry  undertook 
to  prove  to  her  that  it  was  nothing  but  the  light,  and  that  she 
could  not  catch  it ;  and  when  they  came  to  the  little  white  gravelly 
bank,  they  sat  down  and  looked  around  them  with  great  content. 

"  We  're  on  a  desolate  island,  are  n't  we,  Hensel  ?  "  said  Tina. 
"  I  like  desolate  islands,"  she  added,  looking  around  her,  with  the 
air  of  one  who  had  had  a  wide  experience  of  the  article.  "  The 
banks  here  are  so  high,  and  the  bushes  so  thick,  that  Miss  As- 
phyxia could  not  find  us  if  she  were  to  try.  We  '11  make  our 
home  here." 

"  Well,  I  think,  Tina,  darling,  that  it  won't  do  for  us  to  stay 
here  very  long,"  said  Harry.  "  We  must  try  to  get  to  some 
place  where  I  can  find  something  to  do,  and  some  good,  kind 
woman  to  take  care  of  you." 

"  0  Harry,  what 's  the  use  of  thinking  of  that,  —  it 's  so  bright 
and  pleasant,  and  it 's  so  long  since  I  've  had  you  to  play  with  ! 
Do  let 's  have  one  good,  pleasant  day  alone  among  the  flowers ! 
See  how  beautiful  everything  is !  "  she  added,  "  and  it 's  so  warm 
and  quiet  and  still,  and  all  the  birds  and  squirrels  and  butterflies 
are  having  such  a  good  time.  I  don't  want  anything  better  than 
to  play  about  out  in  the  woods  with  you." 

"  But  where  shall  we  sleep  nights,  Tina  ?  " 

"  O,  it  was  so  pleasant  last  night,  and  the  moon  shone  so  bright, 
I  would  not  be  afraid  to  cuddle  down  under  a  bush  with  you, 
Harry." 

"  Ah,  Tina !  you  don't  know  what  may  come.  The  moon  don't 
shine  all  night,  and  there  may  be  cold  and  wind  and  rain,  and 
then  where  would  we  be  ?  Come,  darling,  let 's  go  on ;  we  can 
walk  in  the  fields  by  the  river,  and  so  get  down  to  the  place  Sol 
told  us  about." 


THE  DAY  IN  FAIRY-LAND.  155 

So  at  last  the  little  fanciful  body  was  persuaded  to  wade  back 
from  her  desolate  island,  and  to  set  out  once  more  on  her  pilgrim- 
age. But  even  an  older  head  than  hers  might  have  been  turned 
by  the  delights  of  that  glorious  October  day,  and  gone  off  into  a 
vague  trance  of  bliss,  in  which  the  only  good  of  life  seemed  to  be 
in  luxurious  lounging  and  dreamy  enjoyment  of  the  passing  hour. 
Nature  in  New  England  is,  for  the  most  part,  a  sharp,  determined 
matron,  of  the  Miss  Asphyxia  school.  She  is  shrewd,  keen,  re- 
lentless, energetic.  She  runs  through  the  seasons  a  merciless 
express-train,  on  which  you  may  jump  if  you  can,  at  her  hours, 
but  which  knocks  you  down  remorselessly  if  you  come  in  her 
way,  and  leaves  you  hopelessly  behind  if  you  are  late.  Only  for 
a  few  brief  weeks  in  the  autumn  does  this  grim,  belligerent  female 
condescend  to  be  charming ;  but  when  she  does  set  about  it,  the 
veriest  Circe  of  enchanted  isles  could  not  do  it  better.  Airs 
more  dreamy,  more  hazy,  more  full  of  purple  light  and  lustre, 
never  lay  over  Cyprus  or  Capri  than  those  which  each  October 
overshadow  the  granite  rocks  and  prickly  chestnuts  of  New  Eng- 
land. The  trees  seem  to  run  no  longer  sap,  but  some  strange 
liquid  glow ;  the  colors  of  the  flowers  flame  up,  from  the  cold, 
pallid  delicacy  of  spring,  into  royal  tints  wrought  of  the  very  fire 
of  the  sun  and  the  hues  of  evening  clouds.  The  humblest  weed, 
which  we  trod  under  our  foot  unnoticed  in  summer,  changes  with 
the  first  frost  into  some  colored  marvel,  and  lifts  itself  up  into  a 
study  for  a  painter,  —  just  as  the  touch  of  death  or  adversity  often 
strikes  out  in  a  rough  nature  traits  of  nobleness  and  delicacy  be- 
fore wholly  undreamed  of. 

The  children  travelled  onward  along  the  winding  course  of  the 
river,  through  a  prairie-land  of  wild-flowers.  The  whole  tribe 
of  asters  —  white,  lilac,  pale  blue,  and  royal  purple  —  were  roll- 
ing in  perfect  billows  of  blossoms  around  them,  and  the  sprays 
of  golden-rod  often  rose  above  their  heads,  as  they  crackled  their 
way  through  the  many-colored  thickets.  The  children  were  both 
endowed  with  an  organization  exquisitely  susceptible  to  beauty, 
and  the  flowers  seemed  to  intoxicate  them  with  their  variety  and 
brilliancy.  They  kept  gathering  from  right  to  left  without  any 
other  object  than  the  possession  of  a  newer  and  fairer  spray,  till 


156  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

their  little  arms  were  full ;  and  then  they  would  lay  them  down 
to  select  from  the  mass  the  choicest,  which  awhile  after  would  be 
again  thrown  by  for  newer  and  fairer  treasures.  Their  motion 
through  the  bushes  often  disturbed  clouds  of  yellow  butterflies, 
which  had  been  hanging  on  the  fringes  of  the  tall  purple  asters, 
and  which  rose  toying  with  each  other,  and  fluttering  in  ethereal 
dances  against  the  blue  sky,  looking  like  whirls  and  eddies  of 
air-flowers.  One  of  the  most  brilliant  incidents  in  the  many- 
colored  pictures  of  October  days  is  given  by  these  fluttering 
caprices  of  the  butterflies.  Never  in  any  other  part  of  the  season 
are  these  airy  tribes  so  many  and  so  brilliant.  There  are,  in  par- 
ticular, whole  armies  of  small,  bright  yellow  ones,  which  seem 
born  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  make  effective  and  brilliant 
contrasts  with  those  royal-purple  tints  of  asters,  and  they  hang 
upon  them  as  if  drawn  to  them  by  some  law  of  affinity  in  their 
contrasting  colors. 

Tina  was  peculiarly  enchanted  with  the  fanciful  fellowship  of 
these  butterflies.  They  realized  exactly  her  ideal  of  existence, 
and  she  pointed  them  out  to  Harry  as  proof  positive  that  her  own 
notion  of  living  on  sunshine  and  flowers  was  not  a  bad  one.  She 
was  quite  sure  that  they  could  sleep  out  all  night  if  the  butterflies 
could,  and  seemed  not  to  doubt  that  they  would  fancy  her  as  a 
bedfellow. 

Towards  sundown,  when  the  children  were  somewhat  weary 
of  wandering,  and  had  consumed  most  of  the  provisions  in  their 
basket,  they  came  suddenly  on  a  little  tent  pitched  in  the  field, 
at  the  door  of  which  sat  an  old  Indian  woman  weaving  baskets. 
Two  or  three  red-skinned  children,  of  about  the  same  age  as  our 
wanderers,  were  tumbling  and  kicking  about  on  the  ground, 
in  high  frolic,  with  about  as  many  young  puppies,  who  were 
scratching,  rolling,  and  biting,  with  their  human  companions,  in 
admirable  spirits.  There  was  a  fire  before  the  door,  over  which 
a  pot  was  swung  from  a  frame  of  crossed  sticks,  the  odor  of  which 
steamed  up,  suggestive  of  good  cheer. 

The  old  Indian  woman  received  the  children  with  a  broad, 
hearty  grin,  while  Harry  inquired  of  her  how  far  it  was  to  Old- 
town.  The  old  squaw  gave  it  as  her  opinion,  in  very  Indian 


THE  DAY  IN  FAIRY-LAND.  157 

English,  that  it  was  "  muchee  walkee "  for  little  white  boy,  and 
that  he  had  best  stay  with  her  that  night  and  go  on  to-morrow. 

"  There,  Harry,"  said  Tina,  "  now  you  see  just  how  it  is.  This 
is  a  nice  little  house  for  us  to  sleep  in,  and  oh !  I  see  such  pretty 
baskets  in  it." 

The  old  woman  drew  out  a  stock  of  her  wares,  from  which  she 
selected  a  small,  gayly-painted  one,  which  she  gave  to  the  chil- 
dren ;  in  short,  it  was  very  soon  arranged  that  they  were  to  stop 
to  supper  and  spend  the  night  with  her.  The  little  Indians 
gathered  around  them  and  surveyed  them  with  grins  of  delight ; 
and  the  puppies,  being  in  that  state  of  ceaseless  effervescence  of 
animal  spirits  which  marks  the  indiscreet  era  of  puppyhood,  soon 
had  the  whole  little  circle  in  a  state  of  uproarious  laughter. 

By  and  by,  the  old  woman  poured  the  contents  of  the  pot 
into  a  wooden  trough,  and  disclosed  a  smoking  mess  of  the  In- 
dian dish  denominated  succotash,  —  to  wit,  a  soup  of  corn  and 
beans,  with  a  generous  allowance  of  salt  pork.  Offering  a  large, 
clean  clam-shell  to  each  of  the  children,  she  invited  them  to  help 
themselves. 

Whether  it  was  the  exhilarating  effect  of  a  whole  day  spent 
on  foot  in  the  open  air,  or  whether  it  was  owing  to  the  absolute 
perfection  of  the  cookery,  we  cannot  pretend  to  say,  but  certain 
it  is  that  the  children  thought  they  had  never  tasted  anything  bet- 
ter ;  and  Tina's  spirits  became  so  very  airy  and  effervescent,  that 
she  laughed  perpetually,  —  a  state  which  set  the  young  barba- 
rians to  laughing  for  sympathy ;  and  this  caused  all  the  puppies 
to  bark  at  once,  which  made  more  fun ;  so  that,  on  the  whole, 
a  jollier  supper  company  could  nowhere  be  found. 

After  sundown,  when  the  whole  party  had  sufficiently  fatigued 
themselves  with  play  and  laughing,  the  old  woman  spread  a  skin 
inside  the  tent,  where  Tina  lay  down  contentedly  between  Harry 
and  one  of  the  puppies,  which  she  insisted  upon  having  as  her 
own  particular  bedfellow.  Harry  kneeled  down  to  his  prayers 
outside  the  tent,  which  being  observed  by  the  Indian  woman,  she 
clasped  her  hands,  and  seemed  to  listen  with  great  devotion; 
and  when  he  had  finished,  she  said,  "  Me  praying  Indian ;  me 
much  love  Jesus." 


158  OLDTOWN   FOLKS 

The  words  were  said  with  a  tender  gleam  over  the  rough,  hard, 
swarthy  features ;  and  the  child  felt  comforted  by  them  as  he 
nestled  down  to  his  repose. 

"  Harry,"  said  Tina,  decisively,  "  let 's  we  live  here.  I  like  to 
play  with  the  puppies,  and  the  old  woman  is  good  to  us." 

"  We  '11  see,  Tina,"  said  wise  little  Harry. 


THE  OLD  MANOR-HOUSE.  159 

CHAPTER    XV. 

THE     OLD    MANOR-HOUSE. 

ALAS  !  the  next  morning  dawned  wet  and  rainy.  The  wind 
flapped  the  tent-cover,  and  the  rain  put  out  the  fire ;  and, 
what  was  worse,  a  cross,  surly  Indian  man  came  home,  who  beat 
the  poor  old  woman,  and  scattered  the  children  and  puppies,  like 
partridges,  into  the  bushes. 

The  poor  old  squaw  took  it  all  patiently,  and  seemed  only 
intent  on  protecting  the  children  from  injuries  and  inconven- 
iences on  which  she  calculated  as  part  of  her  daily  lot.  She 
beckoned  them  to  her,  and  pointed  across  a  field.  "  Go  dat  way. 
White  folks  dere  be  good  to  you."  And  she  insisted  on  giving 
them  the  painted  basket  and  some  coarse  corn  bread. 

They  set  off  through  the  fields ;  but  the  wind  was  chilly  and 
piercing,  and  the  bushes  and  grass  were  wet,  and  Tina  was  in  a 
doleful  state.  "  O  Harry,  I  wish  we  had  a  house  to  live  in ! 
Where  do  you  suppose  all  the  butterflies  are  staying  that  we 
saw  yesterday  ?  I  'd  like  to  go  where  they  stay." 

"  Never  mind,  Tina  ;  by  and  by  we  '11  come  to  a  house." 

They  passed  a  spot  where  evidently  some  Indians  had  been 
camping,  for  there  were  the  remains  of  a  fire ;  and  Harry  picked 
up  some  dry  brush  and  refuse  sticks  around,  and  kindled  it 
up  bright  for  Tina  to  warm  and  dry  herself.  They  sat  there 
awhile  and  fed  the  fire,  till  they  began  to  feel  quite  warm.  In 
one  of  Harry's  excursions  for  sticks,  he  came  back  and  reported 
a  house  in  sight. 

Sure  enough,  concealed  from  view  behind  a  pine  thicket  was 
a  large,  stately  mansion,  the  approach  to  which  was  through  an 
avenue  of  majestic  trees.  The  path  to  this  was  all  grown  over 
with  high  grass,  and  a  wilderness  of  ornamental  shrubbery  seemed 
to  have  twined  and  matted  itself  together  in  a  wild  labyrinth  of 
uttc*  desertion  and  neglect.  The  children  made  their  way  up 


160  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

the  avenue  through  dripping  grass,  and  bushes  that  reached 
almost  to  their  shoulders,  and  that  drizzled  water  upon  their 
partially  dried  garments  in  a  way  that  made  Tina  shiver. 
"  I  'm  so  cold ! "  she  said,  pitifully.  "  The  folks  must  let  us 
come  in  to  dry  us." 

They  at  last  stood  before  the  front  door,  in  a  sort  of  porch 
which  overshadowed  it,  and  which  rested  on  Corinthian  pillars 
of  some  architectural  pretension.  The  knocker  was  a  black 
serpent  with  its  tail  in  its  mouth.  Tina  shuddered  with  some 
vague,  inward  dread,  as  Harry,  rising  on  tiptoe,  struck  several 
loud  blows  upon  it,  and  then  waited  to  see  who  would  appear. 

The  wind  now  rose,  and  tossed  and  swung  the  branches  of  the 
great  trees  in  the  avenue  with  a  creaking,  groaning  sound.  The 
shrubbery  had  grown  around  the  house  in  a  dense  and  tangled 
mass,  that  produced,  in  the  dismal  stormy  weather,  a  sense  of 
oppression  and  darkness.  Huge  lilacs  had  climbed  above  the 
chamber  windows,  and  clumps  of  syringas  billowed  outward  from 
the  house  in  dense  cascades ;  while  roses  and  various  kinds  of 
more  tender  shrubbery,  which  had  been  deprived  of  light  and  air 
by  their  more  hardy  neighbors,  filled  up  the  space  below  with 
bare,  dead  branches,  through  which  the  wind  sighed  dolefully. 

"  Harry,  do  knock  again,"  said  Tina,  when  they  had  waited 
some  time. 

"It's  no  use,"  said  the  boy;  "I  don't  think  anybody  lives 
here." 

"  Perhaps,  if  we  go  round  to  the  back  of  the  house,  we  shall 
find  somebody,"  said  Tina;  "it's  storming  worse  and  worse." 
And  the  little  girl  plunged  resolutely  into  the  thicket  of  dead 
shrubbery,  and  began  tearing  her  way  through. 

There  was  a  door  on  the  side  of  the  house,  much  like  that  in 
front ;  and  there  were  spacious  back  buildings,  which,  joining  the 
house,  stretched  far  away  in  the  shrubbery.  Harry  tried  this 
side  door.  It  was  firmly  locked.  The  children  then  began  reg- 
ularly trying  every  door  that  presented  itself  to  their  view.  At 
last  one,  after  considerable  effort,  gave  way  before  their  united 
exertions,  and  opened  to  them  a  shelter  from  the  storm,  which 
was  now  driving  harder  and  harder.  It  was  a  place  that  had 


THE   OLD   MANOR-HOUSE.  161 

evidently  been  used  for  the  storing  of  wood,  for  there  was  then 
quite  a  pile  of  fuel  systematically  arranged  against  the  wall.  An 
ancient  axe,  perfectly  red  with  rust,  was  also  hanging  there. 

"  Well,  we  're  in  at  last,"  said  Tina,  "  but  wet  through.  What 
a  storm  it  is  !  " 

"  Perhaps  we  can  get  to  some  better  place  in  the  house,"  said 
Harry ;  "  here  is  wood,  and  we  might  make  a  fire  and  dry  our 
clothes,  and  wait  here  till  the  storm  is  over." 

He  accordingly  pushed  against  a  door  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
wood-shed,  and  it  opened  before  him  into  a  large  old  kitchen. 
There  was  the  ample  fireplace  of  olden  times,  extending  quite 
across  one  side,  garnished  with  a  crane  having  various  hooks  and 
other  paraphernalia  for  the  convenience  of  culinary  operations. 

"  There,  now,"  said  Harry,  "  is  a  fireplace,  and  here  is  wood. 
Now  we  can  dry  ourselves.  Just  you  wait  here,  and  I  '11  go 
back  and  bring  a  brand  from  our  fire,  if  the  rain  has  n't  put  it  all 
out."  And  Harry  turned,  and  hastily  made  the  best  of  his  way 
out  of  the  house,  to  secure  his  treasure  before  it  should  be  too 
late. 

Tina  now  resolved  to  explore  some  of  the  other  rooms.  She 
opened  a  door  which  seemed  to  lead  into  a  large  dining-hall.  A 
heavy  dining-table  of  dark  wood  stood  in  the  middle  of  this  room, 
and  a  large,  old-fashioned  carved  sideboard  filled  up  an  arched 
recess.  Heavy  mahogany  chairs  with  stuffed  leathern  bottoms 
stood  against  the  wall,  but  the  brass  nails  with  which  they  had 
been  finished  were  green  with  rust.  The  windows  of  this  room 
were  so  matted  over  with  cobwebs,  and  so  darkened  by  the  dense 
shrubbery  outside,  as  to  give  the  apartment  a  most  weird  and 
forlorn  appearance.  One  of  the  panes  of  the  window  had  been 
broken,  perhaps  by  the  striking  of  the  shrubbery  against  it ;  and 
the  rain  and  snow  beating  in  there  had  ruined  the  chair  that  stood 
below,  for  the  seat  of  it  was  all  discolored  with  mould. 

Tina  shivered  as  she  looked  at  this  dreary  room,  and  the  tap- 
ping of  her  own  little  heels  seemed  to  her  like  something  ghostly; 
so  she  hastened  to  open  another  door.  This  led  to  a  small  apart- 
ment, which  had  evidently  been  a  lady's  boudoir.  The  walls  were 
hung  with  tapestry  of  a  dark-green  ground,  on  which  flowers  and 


162  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

fruits  and  birds  were  represented  in  colors  that  xyet  remained 
brilliant,  notwithstanding  the  dilapidated  air  of  some  portions  of 
it.  There  was  a  fireplace  in  this  room,  and  the  mantel  was 
choicely  carved,  of  white  Italian  marble,  and  upon  it  were  sundry 
flasks  and  vases  of  Venetian  glass,  of  quaint  and  strange  shapes, 
which  the  child  eyed  with  awe-struck  curiosity.  By  the  side  of 
the  fireplace  was  a  broad  lounge  or  sofa,  with  a  pile  of  cushions, 
covered  with  a  rich  but  faded  brocade,  of  a  pattern  evidently  made 
to  carry  out  the  same  design  with  the  tapestry  on  the  wall. 

A  harpsichord  occupied  another  side  of  the  room,  and  upon  it 
were  piled  music-books  and  manuscript  music  yellow  with  age. 
There  was  a  sort  of  Oriental  guitar  or  lute  suspended  from  the 
wall,  of  which  one  of  the  strings,  being  broken,  vibrated  with  the 
air  of  the  door  when  the  child  made  her  way  into  the  room,  and 
continued  quivering  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  her  nervous  and 
ghostly.  Still  she  was  a  resolute  and  enterprising  little  body ;  and 
though  her  heart  was  beating  at  a  terrible  rate,  she  felt  a  sort  of 
mixture  of  gratified  curiosity  and  exultation  in  her  discovery. 

"  I  wish  Harry  would  come  back,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  We 
might  make  a  fire  in  this  pretty  little  room,  and  it  would  be  quite 
snug,  and  we  could  wait  here  till  the  folks  come  home."  How 
glad  she  was  when  the  sound  of  his  voice  and  footsteps  broke 
the  terrible  loneliness !  She  ran  out  to  him,  exclaiming,  "  0 
Harry,  we  won't  make  a  fire  in  this  great,  doleful  old  kitchen. 
I  've  found  such  a  nice  little  room  full  of  pretty  things !  Let  me 
bring  in  some  wood " ;  —  and,  running  to  the  wood-pile,  she 
filled  her  arms. 

"  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  find  a  brand  with  a  bit  of  fire  on  it," 
said  Harry.  "  There  was  only  the  least  spark  left,  but  I  put  it 
under  my  jacket  and  blew  and  blew,  and  now  we  have  quite  a 
bright  spot  in  it,"  he  said,  showing  with  exultation  a  black  brand 
with  a  round,  fiery  eye  in  it,  which  had  much  the  appearance  of 
a  knowing  old  goblin  winking  at  the  children. 

The  desolate  boudoir  was  soon  a  scene  of  much  animation,  as 
the  marble  hearth  was  strewn  with  chips  and  splinters. 

"  Let  me  blow,  Harry,"  said  Tina,  "  while  you  go  and  look  for 
some  more  of  this  brushwood.  I  saw  a  heap  in  that  wood- 


THE   OLD   MANOR-HOUSE.  163 

house.  I  '11  tend  the  fire  while  you  are  gone.  See,"  she  said 
triumphantly  te  him,  when  he  returned,  dragging  in  a  heavy  pile 
of  brushwood,  "  we  '11  soon  have  such  a  fire  !  "  —  and  she  stooped 
down  over  the  hearth,  laying  the  burnt  ends  of  sticks  together, 
and  blowing  till  her  cheeks  were  so  aflame  with  zeal  and  exer- 
tion that  she  looked  like  a  little  live  coal  herself.  "  Now  for  it ! " 
she  said,  as  she  broke  bit  after  bit  of  the  brushwood.  "  See  now, 
it 's  beginning  to  burn,  —  hear  it  crackle !  Now  put  on  more 
and  more." 

Very  soon,  in  fact,  the  brushwood  crackled  and  roared  in  a 
wide  sheet  of  flame  up  the  old  chimney ;  and  being  now  rein- 
forced with  stout  sticks  of  wood,  the  fire  took  a  solid  and  settled 
and  companionable  form,  —  the  brightest,  most  hopeful  compan- 
ion a  mortal  could  ask  for  in  a  chill,  stormy  day  in  autumn. 

"  Now,  Harry,"  said  Tina,  "  let 's  dry  our  clothes,  and  then  we 
will  see  what  we  can  do  in  our  house." 

"  But  is  it  really  ours  ?  "  said  thoughtful  Harry.  "  Who  knows 
who  it  may  belong  to  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Tina,  apprehensively,  "  that  any  giant 
lives  here  that  has  gone  out  and  will  come  home  again  ?  Father 
used  to  tell  us  a  story  like  that." 

"  There  are  n't  really  giants  now-a-days,  Tina,"  said  Harry ; 
"those  are  only  stories.  I  don't  think  that  it  looks  as  if  anybody 
had  lived  here  for  a  great  while.  Things  don't  look  as  if  any- 
body lived  here,  or  was  expecting  to  come  back." 

"Then  we  may  as  well  live  here  as  anybody,"  said  Tina, 
"  and  I  will  keep  house  for  you.  I  will  roast  some  apples  for  our 
dinner,  —  I  saw  ever  so  many  out  here  on  the  tree.  Roast  apples 
with  our  corn  bread  will  be  so  good !  And  then  we  can  sleep  to- 
night on  this  great,  wide  sofa,  —  can't  we  ?  Here,  let  me  sweep 
up  the  chips  we  have  made,  and  make  our  little  house  look  nice." 

"  It  must  be  a  long  time  since  any  one  has  lived  here,"  said 
Harry,  looking  up  at  the  cobwebbed  window,  against  which  the 
shrubbery  was  dashing  and  beating  in  the  fury  of  the  storm, 
"  and  there  can't  be  the  least  harm  in  our  staying  here  till  the 
storm  is  over." 

"  Such  a  strange,  pretty  room  this  is ! "  said  Tina, "  and  so  many 


164  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

strange,  pretty  things  in  it !  Do  you  know,  Harry,  I  was  almost 
afraid  to  be  here  while  you  were  gone  ;  but  this  bright,  warm  fire 
makes  such  a  difference.  Fire  is  company,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

When  the  little  one  had  dried  her  clothes,  she  began,  with  a 
restless,  butterfly  sort  of  motion,  to  investigate  more  closely  the 
various  objects  of  the  apartment.  She  opened  the  harpsichord, 
and  struck  a  few  notes,  which  sounded  rather  discordantly,  as  an 
instrument  which  chill  and  solitude  had  smitten  with  a  lasting 
hoarseness. 

"0,  horrid!  This  isn't  pretty,"  she  said.  "I  wonder  who 
ever  played  on  it  ?  But,  O  Harry !  come  and  look  here !  I 
thought  this  was  another  room  in  here,  with  a  fire  in  it,"  she  said, 
as  she  lifted  a  curtain  which  hung  over  a  recess.  "  Look  !  it 's 
only  looking-glass  in  a  door.  Where  does  it  go  to  ?  Let 's  see." 
And  with  eager  curiosity  she  turned  the  knob,  and  the  door 
opened,  disclosing  only  a  sort  of  inner  closet,  which  had  been 
evidently  employed  for  a  writing-cabinet,  as  a  writing-table  stood 
there,  and  book-cases  filled  with  books. 

What  most  attracted  the  attention  of  the  children  was  a  pic- 
ture, which  was  hung  exactly  opposite  the  door,  so  that  it  met  the 
children  face  to  face.  It  was  the  image  of  a  young  girl,  dressed 
in  white,  with  long,  black,  curling  hair  falling  down  over  her  neck 
and  shoulders.  The  dark  eyes  had  an  expression  both  searching 
and  melancholy ;  and  it  was  painted  in  that  peculiar  manner, 
which  produces  such  weird  effects  on  the  beholder,  in  which  the 
eyes  seem  to  be  fixed  upon  the  spectator,  and  to  follow  him  on 
whichever  side  he  stands. 

"  What  a  pretty  lady  !  But  she  looks  at  us  so ! "  said  Tina, 
covering  her  eyes.  "  I  almost  thought  it  was  a  real  woman." 

"  Whichever  way  we  move,  she  looks  after  us,"  said  Harry. 

"  She  looks  as  if  she  would  speak  to  us,"  said  Tina ;  "  she 
surely  wants  to  say  something." 

"  It  is  something  very  sad,  then,"  said  the  boy,  studying  the 
picture  attentively.  "  She  was  not  sad  as  mother  was,"  said  he, 
with  a  delicate,  spiritual  instinct  reading  the  impression  of  the 
face.  "  Mother  used  to  look  very,  very  sad,  but  in  a  different 
way,  —  a  better  way,  I  think." 


THE   OLD   MANOR-HOUSE.  165 

"  Of  course  it  is  n't  in  the  least  like  mother,"  said  Tina. 
"  Mother  had  soft,  bright  hair,  —  not  black,  like  this ;  and  her 
eyes  were  blue,  like  yours,  Harry." 

"  I  don't  mean  her  hair  or  her  eyes,"  said  Harry  ;  "  but  when 
mother  was  sad,  she  always  used  to  pray.  I  don't  think  this  one 
looks  as  if  she  would  pray,"  said  the  boy,  rather  under  his  breath. 

There  was,  in  fact,  a  lurking  sparkle  of  haughty  determination 
in  the  depths  of  the  mournful  eyes,  and  a  firm  curve  to  the  lines 
of  the  mouth,  an  arching  of  the  neck,  and  a  proud  carriage  of  the 
head,  that  confirmed  the  boy's  strictures,  and  indicated  that,  what- 
ever sorrows  might  have  crushed  the  poor  heart  that  beat  beneath 
that  fair  form,  they  were  borne  in  her  own  strength,  with  no 
uplooking  for  aid. 

Tina  longed  to  open  the  drawers  of  the  cabinet  beneath  the 
picture,  but  Harry  held  her  hand.  "  Tina,  dear,  what  would 
mother  say  ?  "  he  said,  reprovingly.  "  This  is  n't  our  house. 
Whoever  owns  it  would  n't  think  it  was  wrong  for  us  to  stay 
here  in  such  a  storm,  but  we  certainly  ought  not  to  touch  their 
things." 

"  But  we  may  go  through  the  house,  and  see  all  the  rooms," 
said  Tina,  who  had  a  genuine  feminine  passion  for  rummaging, 
and  whose  curiosity  was  piqued  to  the  extreme  point  by  the  dis- 
coveries already  made.  "I  shall  be  afraid  to  sleep  here  to- 
night, unless  I  know  all  that  is  in  the  house." 

So  the  children  went,  hand  in  hand,  through  the  various  apart- 
ments. The  house  was  one  of  those  stately  manors  which,  before 
the  Revolutionary  war,  the  titled  aristocracy  of  England  delight- 
ed to  reproduce  on  the  virgin  soil  of  America.  Even  to  this 
modern  time,  some  of  the  old  provincial  towns  in  New  England 
preserve  one  or  two  of  these  monuments  of  the  pride  and  pomp 
of  old  colonial  days,  when  America  was  one  of  the  antechambers 
of  the  English  throne  and  aristocracy. 

The  histories  of  these  old  houses,  if  searched  into,  present 
many  romantic  incidents,  in  which  truth  may  seem  wilder  than 
fiction.  In  the  breaking  of  the  ties  between  the  mother  country 
and  America,  many  of  these  stately  establishments  were  suddenly 
broken  up,  and  the  property,  being  subject  to  governmental  claims 


166  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

yet  undecided,  lay  a  long  time  unoccupied ;  the  real  claimants 
being  in  England,  and  their  possessions  going  through  all  the  pro- 
cesses of  deterioration  and  decay  incident  to  property  in  the 
hands  of  agents  at  a  distance  from  the  real  owners.  The  moss 
of  legend  and  tradition  grew  upon  these  deserted  houses.  Life 
in  New  England,  in  those  days,  had  not  the  thousand  stimulants 
to  the  love  of  excitement  which  are  to  be  found  in  the  throng 
and  rush  of  modern  society,  and  there  was  a  great  deal  more  of 
story-telling  and  romancing  in  real  life  than  exists  now  ;  and  the 
simple  villagers  by  their  firesides  delighted  to  plunge  into  the  fath- 
omless abyss  of  incident  that  came  from  the  histories  of  grand, 
unknown  people  across  the  water,  who  had  established  this  inci- 
dental connection  with  their  neighborhood.  They  exaggerated 
the  records  of  the  pomp  and  wealth  that  had  environed  them. 
They  had  thrilling  legends  of  romantic  and  often  tragic  incidents, 
of  which  such  houses  had  been  the  theatres.  More  than  one  of 
them  had  its  well-attested  ghosts,  Avhich,  at  all  proper  hours,  had 
been  veritably  seen  to  go  through  all  those  aimless  ghostly  per- 
ambulations and  performances  which,  according  to  village  legends, 
diversify  the  leisure  of  the  spiritual  state. 

The  house  into  which  the  children's  wandering  fortunes  had 
led  them  was  one  whose  legends  and  history  formed  the  topic  of 
many  an  excited  hour  of  my  childhood,  as  crooned  over  to  me  by 
different  story-telling  gossips  ;  and  it  had,  in  its  structure  and 
arrangements,  the  evident  impress  of  days  nevermore  to  be  re- 
produced in  New  England.  Large  and  lofty  apartments,  some 
of  them  still  hung  with  tapestry,  and  some  adorned  with  arches 
and  columns,  were  closed  in  from  air  and  light  by  strong  shutters, 
although  a  dusky  glimmer  came  through  the  heart-shaped  holes 
cut  in  them.  Some  of  these  apartments  were  quite  dismantled 
and  bare.  In  others  the  furniture  was  piled  together  in  con- 
fusion, as  if  for-  the  purpose  of  removal.  One  or  two  chambers 
were  still  thoroughly  furnished,  and  bore  the  marks  of  having 
been,  at  some  recent  period,  occupied  ;  for  there  were  mattresses 
and  pillows  and  piles  of  bedclothing  on  the  great,  stately  bed- 
steads. 

"  We  might  sleep  in  one  of  these  rooms,"  said  Harry. 


THE   OLD   MANOR-HOUSE.  167 

"  O,  no,  no !  "  said  the  child,  clinging  to  him ;  "  I  should  be 
afraid.  That  great,  dreadful-looking,  dark  bed !  And  who 
knows  what  might  be  behind  the  curtains  !  Let  me  sleep  in  the 
bright  little  room,  where  we  can  see  all  around  us.  I  should  be 
afraid  that  lady  in  the  closet  would  walk  about  these  rooms  in  the 
night." 

"  Perhaps  she  did  once,"  said  Harry.  "  But  come,  let  us  go 
down.  The  wind  blows  and  howls  so  about  these  lonesome 
rooms,  it  makes  me  afraid." 

"  How  it  rumbles  down  the  chimneys ! "  said  Tina ;  "  and  now 
it  squeals  just  as  if  somebody  was  hurting  it.  It 's  a  terrible 
storm,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it 's  well  we  are  in  a  house  at  any  rate,"  said  Harry ; 
"  but  let 's  go  down  and  bring  in  wood,  and  I  '11  get  some  apples 
and  pears  off  the  trees  out  by  the  back  door." 

And  so  the  two  poor  little  swallows  chittered  as  they  built 
their  small,  innocent  nest  in  the  deserted  house,  as  ignorant  of 
the  great  Before  and  After,  as  if  they  had  had  wings  and  feath- 
ers, and  round,  bright  bird-eyes,  instead  of  curly,  golden  heads. 
Harry  brought  in  a  quantity  of  fruit  in  Tina's  little  checked 
apron,  and,  like  two  squirrels,  they  stored  it  under  the  old  bro- 
cade sofa. 

"  Now  ever  so  much  wood  in  the  hall  here,"  said  Tina,  with 
the  providence  of  a  little  housewife ;  "  because  when  the  dark 
night  comes  we  shall  be  afraid  to  go  into  the  wood-house." 

Harry  felt  very  large  and  very  provident,  and  quite  like  a 
householder,  as  he  brought  armful  after  armful  and  laid  it  outside 
the  door,  wlrile  Tina  arranged  some  apples  to  roast  on  the  mar- 
ble hearth.  "  If  we  only  could  get  something  to  eat  every  day, 
we  might  live  here  always,"  she  said. 

And  so  that  evening,  when  the  night  shadows  came  down 
darkly  on  the  house,  though  the  storm  without  thundered  and 
beat  and  groaned  amid  the  branches  of  the  old  trees,  and  rum- 
bled and  shook  the  chimneys  of  the  solitary  manor-house,  there 
was  one  nook  that  presented  as  bright  and  warm  a  picture  as  two 
fair  child-faces,  with  a  background  of  strange  antique  furniture 
and  surroundings,  could  furnish.  The  fire  had  burned  down  into 


168  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

great  splendid  glowing  coals,  in  which  the  children,  seated  before 
it  on  the  tapestried  hearth-rug,  saw  all  sorts  of  strange  faces. 
Tina  had  insisted  on  keeping  open  the  door  of  the  cabinet  where 
the  beautiful  lady  was,  because,  she  said,  she  must  be  lonesome 
in  that  dark  closet  by  herself. 

"  I  wish  she  would  only  smile,"  she  said,  as  the  sharp  spires  of 
flame  from  a  new  stick  of  wood  which  she  had  just  laid  on,  dancing 
up,  made  the  face  seem  to  become  living  and  tremulous  as  if  with 
emotion.  "  See,  Hensel,  she  looks  as  if  she  were  going  to  speak 
to  us." 

And  hours  later  the  fire  still  burned  in  the  little  boudoir  ;  but 
the  two  pretty  child-faces  lay  cheek  to-cheek  in  the  wide,  motherly 
arms  of  the  sofa,  and  the  shadowy  lady  seemed  to  watch  over 
them  silently  from  her  lonely  recess. 


SAM  LAWSOX'S  DISCOVERIES.  169 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

SAM  LAWSON'S   DISCOVERIES. 

THE  evening  was  closing  in  sharp  and  frosty,  with  a  lowering 
of  wind  and  cloud  that  rendered  fire-light  doubly  dear  and 
welcome,  as  we  all  drew  our  chairs  round  the  great,  glowing  fire 
in  my  grandmother's  kitchen.  I  had  my  little  block  of  wood, 
which  served  as  a  footstool,  far  in  the  cavernous  depths  of  one 
end  of  the  fireplace,  close  by  Black  Crcsar,  who  was  busy  mak- 
ing me  a  popgun,  while  my  grandmother  sat  at  the  other  end 
in  her  rocking-chair,  rattling  her  knitting-needles.  Uncle  Fly 
had  just  frisked  in,  and  was  perched,  as  was  his  wont,  on  the 
very  tip  of  his  chair,  where  he  sat  fussily  warming  and  rubbing 
his  hands,  much  as  a  meditative  blue-bottle  performs  the  same 
operation  with  his  fore  feet. 

"  So,"  said  my  grandmother  to  my  grandfather,  in  reproachful 
tones,  "  you  've  gone  and  shut  the  calf  up  from  its  mother." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  my  grandfather ;  "  that  was  foreordained 
and  freely  predetermined." 

"  Well,  I  say  it 's  a  shame,"  sputtered  my  grandmother,  •— 
"  poor  creturs  !  " 

It  was  a  part  of  the  farming  ordinance,  when  the  calf  waa 
fated  to  be  killed,  to  separate  it  for  a  day  from  its  mother,  a  pro- 
ceeding which  never  failed  to  excite  the  indignation  of  my  grand- 
mother, which  she  expressed  always  with  as  much  life  and  fresh- 
ness as  if  she  had  never  heard  of  such  a  matter  before  in  her  life. 
She  was  not,  to  be  sure,  precisely  aware  what  was  to  be  done 
about  it ;  but  in  a  general  way  she  considered  calf-killing  as  an 
abominable  cruelty,  and  the  parting  of  calf  and  cow  for  a  day 
beforehand  as  an  aggravation.  My  grandfather  was  fond  of  meet- 
ing her  with  a  sly  use  of  some  of  the  Calvinistic  theological  terms 
which  abounded  in  her  favorite  writers.  The  most  considerate  of 
husbands  often  enjoy  any  quiet  method  of  giving  a  sly  tweak  to 
8 


170  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

some  cherished  peculiarity  of  their  yokefellows ;  and  there  was 
the  least  suggestion  of  a  smile  hovering  over  my  grandfather's 
face,  —  which  smile,  in  your  quiet  man,  means  two  things,  — 
first,  that  he  is  going  to  have  his  own  way  in  spite  of  all  you  can 
say,  and,  secondly,  that  he  is  quietly  amused  by  your  opposition. 

"  I  say  it 's  a  shame,"  quotli  my  grandmother,  "  and  I  always 
shall.  Hear  that  poor  cow  low  !  She  feels  as  bad  as  I  should." 

"  Mother,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  in  an  impatient  tone,  "  I  wonder 
that  you  can't  learn  to  let  things  go  on  as  they  must.  What 
would  you  have  ?  We  must  have  fresh  meat  sometimes,  and  you 
eat  as  much  as  any  of  us." 

"  I  don't  care,  it 's  too  bad,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  and  I  al- 
ways shall  think  so.  If  I  had  things  my  way,  folks  should  n't  eat 
creatures  at  all." 

"  You  M  be  a  Brahmin,"  said  my  grandfather. 

"  No,  I  should  n't  be  a  Brahmin,  either ;  but  I  know  an  old 
cow's  feelings,  and  I  would  n't  torment  her  just  to  save  myself  a 
little  trouble." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Sam 
Lawson,  who  came  in  with  a  long,  lugubrious  face,  and  an  air  of 
solemn,  mysterious  importance,  which  usually  was  the  herald  of 
some  communication. 

"  Well,  Sam,"  said  my  grandfather,  "  how  are  you  ?  " 

"  Middlin',  Deacon,"  said  Sam,  mournfully,  —  "  only  middlin'." 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down,"  said  my  grandfather,  "  and  tell  us  the 
news." 

"Wai,  I  guess  I  will.  How  kind  o'  revivin'  and  cheerful  it 
does  look  here,"  said  Sam,  seating  himself  in  his  usual  attitude, 
with  his  hands  over  the  fire.  "  Lordy  massy,  it 's  so  different  to 
our  house !  Hepsy  hain't  spoke  a  railly  decent  word  to  me  since 
the  gineral  trainin'.  You  know,  Deacon,  Monday,  a  week  ago, 
was  gineral  trainin'  day  over  to  Hopkinton,  and  Hepsy,  she  was 
set  in  the  idee  that  I  should  take  her  and  the  young  nns  to  mus- 
ter. 'All  right,  Hepsy,'  says  I,  *ef  I  can  borrow  a  hoss.'  Wai, 
I  walked  and  walked  clean  up  to  Captain  Brown's  to  borrow  a 
hoss,  and  I  couldn't  get  none,  and  I  walked  clean  down  to  Bill 
Peters's,  and  I  couldn't  get  none.  Finally,  Ned  Parker,  ho 


SAM  LAWSON'S  DISCOVERIES. 

lent  me  his'n.  Wai,  to  be  sure,  his  Loss  has  got  the  spring- 
halt, that  kind  o'  twitches  up  the  waggin,  and  don't  look  so 
genteel  as  some;  but,  lordy  massy,  'twas  all  I  could  get.  But 
Hepsy,  she  blamed  me  all  the  same.  And  then  she  was  at  me 
'cause  she  had  n't  got  no  gloves.  Wai,  I  had  n't  no  gret  o' 
change  in  my  pocket,  and  I  wanted  to  keep  it  for  gingerbread 
and  sich  for  the  young  uns,  so  I  thought  I  'd  jest  borrow  a  pair 
for  her,  and  say  nothin' ;  and  I  went  over  and  asked  Mis'  Captain 
Brown,  and  over  to  Mis'  Dana's,  and  round  to  two  or  three 
places ;  and  finally  Lady  Lothrop,  she  said  she  'd  give  me  a  old 
pair  o'  hern.  And  I  brought  'em  to  Hepsy ;  and  do  you  believe, 
she  throwed  'em  right  smack  in  my  face.  '  S'pose  I  'm  goin'  to 
wear  such  an  old  dirty  pair  as  that  ?  '  says  she.  Wai,  arter  all,  we 
sot  out,  and  Hepsy,  she  got  clear  beat  out ;  and  when  Hepsy  does 
get  beat  out  she  has  spells,  and  she  goes  on  awful,  and  they  last 
day  arter  day.  Hepsy's  spells  is  jest  like  these  'ere  northeast 
storms,  —  they  never  do  railly  clear  off,  but  kind  o'  wear  out,  as 
't  were,  —  and  this  'ere  seems  to  be  about  one  of  her  longest. 
She  was  at  me  this  mornin'  fust  thing  'fore  I  was  out  o'  bed,  cry- 
in'  and  goin'  on,  and  castin'  on  it  up  at  me  the  men  she  might  'a' 
hed  if  she  had  n't  'a'  hed  me,  and  the  things  they  'd  'a'  done  for 
her,  jest  as  if  't  was  my  fault.  *  Lordy  massy,  Hepsy,'  says  I,  'I 
ain't  t'  blame.  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  you  hed  'a'  hed  any  on 
'em  you  'd  ruther.'  You  see  I  wa'  n't  meanin'  no  'fence,  you 
know,  but  just  a  bein'  kind  o'  sympathizin'  like,  and  she  flew  at 
me  't  oncet.  Massy  to  us  !  why,  you  'd  'a'  thought  all  them  old 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah  sinners  biled  down  wa'  n't  nothin'  to  me. 
She  did  talk  ridiculous.  I  tried  to  reason  with  her.  Says  I, 
'  Hepsy,  see  here  now.  Here  you  be  in  a  good  bed,  in  your  own 
house,  and  your  kindlin's  all  split  to  make  your  fire,  —  and  I 
split  every  one  on  'em  after  twelve  o'clock  last  night,  —  and  .you 
a  goin'  on  at  this  'ere  rate.  Hepsy,'  says  I,  '  it 's  awful.'  But, 
lordy  massy,  how  that  'ere  woman  can  talk !  She  begun  agin, 
and  I  could  n't  get  in  a  word  edgeways  nor  crossways  nor  no- 
ways ;  and  so  I  jest  got  up  and  went  round  to  the  tavern,  and 
there  I  met  Bill  Moss  and  Jake  Marshall,  and  we  had  some 
crackers  and  cheese  and  a  little  suthin'  hot  with  it,  and  it  kind  o' 


172  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

'curred  to  me,  as  Hepsy  was  in  one  o'  her  spells,  it  would  be  a 
good  time  to  go  kind  o'  Indianing  round  the  country  a  spell  till  she 
kind  o'  come  to,  ye  know.  And  so  I  thought  I  'd  jest  go  t'  other 
side  o'  Hopkinton  and  see  Granny  Walkers,  —  her  that  was 
housekeeper  to  Lady  Frankland,  ye  know, —  and  see  if  I  could  n't 
rake  out  the  pertickelars  of  that  'ere  Dench  house.  That  'ere 
house  has  been  a  lyin'  on  my  mind  considerable,  along  back." 

My  ears  began  to  prick  up  with  great  liveliness  and  animation 
at  this  sound ;  and,  deserting  Caesar,  I  went  over  and  stood  by 
Sam,  and  surveyed  him  with  fixed  attention,  wondering  in  the 
mean  time  how  a  house  could  lie  on  his  mind. 

"  Well,"  said  my  grandfather,  "  what  did  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Wai,  I  did  n't  get  over  to  her  house ;  but  when  I  'd  walked  a 
pretty  good  piece  I  came  across  Widdah  Peters's  son,  Sol  Peters, 
—  you  know  him,  Mis'  Badger,  he  lives  over  in  Needmore  with 
a  great,  spankin'  old  gal  they  call  Miss  Asphyxy  Smith.  You  've 
heard  of  Miss  Sphyxy  Smith,  hain't  you,  Mis'  Badger  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  have,"  said  my  grandmother. 

"Miss  Asphyxia  Smith  is  a  smart,  industrious  woman,"  said 
Aunt  Lois  ;  "  it  is  n't  worth  while  to  talk  so  about  her.  The  world 
would  be  better  off,"  she  continued,  eying  Sam  with  an  air  of 
didactic  severity,  "  if  there  were  more  people  in  it  that  keep  to 
their  own  business,  like  Miss  Sphyxy." 

"  Wai,  spuz  so,"  said  Sam  Lawsou,  with  an  innocent  and  virtu- 
ous droop,  not  in  the  slightest  degree  recognizing  the  hint ;  "  but 
now,  you  see,  I'm  coming  to  a  pint.  Sol,  he  asked  me  if  anybody 
over  to  Oldtown  had  seen  or  heard 'any  thing  of  a  couple  of  chil- 
dren that  had  run  away  from  Needmore.  There  was  a  boy  and 
a  gal  about  nine  or  ten  or  under,  that  had  been  put  out  by  the 
parish.  The  boy  was  livin'  with  Old  Crab  Smith,  and  the  gal 
witli  Miss  Sphyxy." 

"  Well,  I  pity  the  child  that  Miss  Sphyxy  Smith  has  taken  to 
bring  up,  I  must  say,"  said  my  grandmother.  "  What  business 
have  old  maids  a  taking  children  to  bring  up,  I  want  to  know  ? 
Why,  it  is  n't  every  hen  that 's  fit  to  bring  up  chickens.  How 
came  the  children  there,  anyway  ?  " 

"  Wai,  you  see,  there  come  a  woman  along  to  Crab  Smith's 


SAM  LAWSOX'S  DISCOVERIES.  173 

with  these  'ere  children.  Sol  says  they  're  real  putty  children, 
—  putty-behaved  as  ever  he  see.  The  woman,  she  was  took 
down  and  died  there.  And  so  Old  Crab,  he  took  the  boy ;  and 
Miss  Sphyxy,  she  took  the  gal." 

"  Too  bad,"  said  my  grandmother ;  "  poor  motherless  babes, 
and  nobody  but  Crab  and  Sphyxy  Smith  to  do  for  'em !  Some- 
body ought  to  see  about  it." 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  Sol,  he  said  that  Miss  Sphyxy  was  as  hard  as  a 
grindstone  on  this  gal,  and  they  kep'  the  boy  and  gal  apart,  and 
would  n't  let  'em  see  nor  speak  to  each  other ;  and  Sol  says  he 
never  did  pity  any  poor,  lonesome  little  critter  as  he  did  that 'ere 
little  gal.  She  used  to  lie  abed  nights,  and  sob  and  cry  fit  to 
break  her  little  heart." 

"  I  should  like  to  go  and  talk  to  that  woman  !  "  said  my  grand- 
mother, vengefully.  "  I  wonder  folks  can  be  so  mean  !  I  won- 
der what  such  folks  think  of  themselves,  and  where  they  expect 
to  go  to  !  " 

"  Wai,  you  see,"  continued  Sam,  "  the  young  un  was  spicy ; 
and  when  Miss  Sphyxy  was  down  on  her  too  hard,  the  child,  she 
fit  her,  —  you  know  a  rat  '11  bite,  a  hen  will  peck,  and  a  worm 
will  turn,  —  and  finally  it  come  to  a  fight  between  'em  ;  and  Miss 
Sphyxy,  she  gin  her  an  awful  whippin'.  '  Lordy  massy,  Sol/ 
says  I,  when  Sol  was  a  tellin'  me, '  you  need  n't  say  nothin'  about 
it.  That  'ere  gal 's  got  arms  like  a  windmill ;  she  's  a  regular 
brown  thrasher,  she  is,  only  she  ain't  got  no  music  in  her ;  and 
ef  she  undertook  to  thrash  me,  she  'd  make  out.'  " 

"  Well,  what  became  of  the  children  ?  "  said  my  grandmother. 

"  Wai,  you  see,  they  run  off  together ;  fact  is,  Sol  says  he 
helped  'em  off,  and  told  'em  to  come  over  to  Oldtown.  He  says 
he  told  'em  to  inquire  for  Deacon  Badger's." 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  severely.  "  Every  man, 
woman,  and  child  that  wants  taking  care  of  is  sent  straight  to 
our  house." 

"And  good  reason  they  should,  Lois,"  said  my  grandmother, 
who  was  wide  awake.  "  I  declare,  people  ought  to  be  out  look- 
ing for  them.  'Liakim,  you  are  always  flying  about ;  why  don't 
you  look  'em  up  ?  " 


174  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Uncle  Fly  jumped  up  with  alacrity.  "  To  be  sure,  they  ought 
to  be  looked  after,"  he  said,  running  to  the  window.  "  They 
ought  to  be  looked  after  right  off;  they  must  be  attended  to." 
And  Uncle  Fly  seemed  to  have  an  indefinite  intention  of  pitch- 
ing straight  through  the  window  in  pursuit. 

Sam  Lawson  eyed  him  with  a  serene  gravity.  He  felt  the 
importance  of  being  possessed  of  all  the  information  the  subject 
in  question  admitted  of,  which  he  was  determined  to  develop  in 
an  easy  and  leisurely  manner,  without  any  undue  hurry  or  heat. 
"  Mr.  Sheril,"  he  said,  "  the  fust  thing  you  '11  hev  to  find  out  is 
where  they  be.  It's  no  use  tearin'  round  gen'ily.  Where  be 
they  ?  —  that 's  the  question." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  said  Uncle  Fly.  '•'  Well,  what  you 
got  to  say  about  that  ?  " 

"  Wai,  you  jest  set  down  now,  and  be  kind  o'  composed.  I  'in 
a  coinin'  to  that  'ere  pint  in  time,"  said  Sam.  "  That  'ere  's  jest 
what  I  says  to  Sol.  '  Sol,'  says  J,  '  where  be  they  ? '  And  Sol, 
he  says  to  me,  '  I  dunno.  They  might  'a'  gone  with  the  Indians,' 
says  Sol,  '  or  they  might  'a'  got  lost  in  the  Oldtown  woods ' ;  —  and 
jest  as  we  was  a  talkin',  we  see  old  Obscue  a  comin'  along.  He 
was  out  on  a  tramp  over  to  Hopkinton,  Obscue  was,  and  we  asked 
him  about  'em.  Wai,  Obscue,  he  says  that  a  gal  and  boy  like 
what  we  talked  of  had  slep'  in  his  wife's  hut  not  long  sence.  You 
know  Obscue's  wife  ;  she  makes  baskets,  and  goes  round  sellin' 
on  'em.  I  could  n't  fairly  get  out  o'  Obscue  what  day  't  was,  nor 
which  way  they  went  arter ;  but  it  was  clear  that  them  was  the 
ones." 

"  Then,"  said  Uncle  Fly,  "  they  must  be  somewhere.  They 
may  have  lost  their  way  in  the  Oldtown  woods,  and  wandered  up 
and  down.  There  ought  to  be  a  party  started  out  to  look  for 
'em  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Now  look  here,  Mr.  Sheril,"  said  Sam,  "  I  think  we  'd 
better  kind  o'  concentrate  our  idees  on  some  one  pint  afore  we 
start  out,  and  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  'm  a  thinkin'  of.  You  know  I 
was  a  tellin'  you  that  I  'd  seen  smoke  coming  out  o'  the  chirnbly 
of  the  Dench  house.  Now  I  jest  thought  them  poor  little  robins 
might  have  jest  got  in  there.  You  know  it  stormed  like  ven- 


SAM   LAWSON'S   DISCOVERIES.  175 

geance  last  week,  and  the  little  critters  might  have  took  shelter 
in  that  'ere  lonesome  old  house." 

"  Poor  babes  !  "  said  my  grandmother.  "  'Liakim,  you  go  up 
there  and  see." 

"  Well,  I  tell  you,"  said  Uncle  Eliakim,  "  I  '11  be  up  bright  and 
early  with  my  old  horse  and  wagon,  and  go  over  to  the  Dench 
house  and  see"  about  it." 

"  Wai,  now,"  said  Sam,  "  if  you  would  n't  mind,  I  '11  just  ride 
over  with  you.  I  wanted  to  kind  o'  go  over  that  'ere  house. 
I  've  had  it  on  my  mind  a  good  while." 

"  Is  that  the  haunted  house  ?  "  said  I,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Wai,  it 's  the  one  they  call  haunted,  but  't  ain't  best  to  be 
"Traid  of  nothin',"  said  Sam,  surveying  ine  paternally,  and  wink- 
ing very  obviously  with  one  eye  at  Uncle  Eliakim ;  quite  forget- 
ting the  long  roll  of  terrible  suggestions  he  had  made  on  the 
same  subject  a  few  evenings  before. 

"  But  you  told  about  the  man  in  a  long  red  cloak,  and  the  boy 
they  threw  in  a  well,  and  a  woman  in  white." 

"  Lordy  massy,  what  ears  young  ones  has ! "  said  Sam,  throw- 
ing up  his  hands  pathetically.  "I  never  thought  as  you  was 
round,  Horace;  but  you  mustn't  never  mind  nolhin'  about  it. 
There  ain't  really  no  such  thing  as  ghosts." 

"  I  want  to  go  over  and  see  the  house,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  well,  you  shall,"  said  Uncle  Fly ;  "  but  you  must  wake 
up  bright  and  early.  I  shall  be  off  by  six  o'clock." 

"Well,  now,  mother,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  "I  just  want  to  know 
if  you  are  going  to  make  our  house  an  asylum  for  all  the  tramp- 
crs  and  all  the  stray  children  in  the  neighboring  parishes? 
Have  we  got  to  keep  these  children,  or  are  we  going  to  send  'em 
back  where  they  belong  ?  " 

"  Send  'em  back  to  Old  Crab  Smith  and  Miss  Sphyxy  ?  "  said 
my  grandmother.  "  I  'd  like  to  see  myself  doing  that." 

"  Well,  then,  are  we  going  to  maintain  'em  ? "  said  Aunt 
Lois ;  "  because  I  want  to  know  definitely  what  this  is  coming 
to." 

"  We  '11  see,"  said  my  grandmother.  "It 's  our  business  to 
do  good  as  we  have  opportunity.  We  must  n't  reap  the  corners 


176  OLD!  OWN  FOLKS. 

of  our  fields,  nor  beat  off  all  our  olive-berries,  but  leave  'em  for 
the  poor,  the  fatherless,  and  the  widow,  Scripture  says." 

"Well,  I  guess  our  olive-berries  are  pretty  well  beaten  off 
now,  and  our  fields  reaped,  corners  and  all,"  said  Lois ;  "  and  I 
don't  see  why  we  needs  must  intermeddle  with  children  that  the 
selectmen  in  Needmore  have  put  out." 

Now  Aunt  Lois  was  a  first-rate  belligerent  power  in  oui 
family  circle,  and  in  many  cases  carried  all  before  her ;  but  my 
grandmother  always  bore  her  down  on  questions  like  these,  and 
it  was  agreed,  nem.  con.,  that  the  expedition  to  look  up  the 
wanderers  should  take  place  the  next  morning. 

The  matter  being  thus  arranged,  Sam  settled  back  with  a  jocu- 
lar freedom  of  manner,  surveying  the  fire,  and  flopping  his  hands 
over  it,  smiling  to  himself  in  a  manner  that  made  it  evident  that 
he  had  a  further  reserve'  of  something  on  his  mind  to  communi- 
cate. "  This  'ere  Miss  Sphyxy  Smith 's  a  rich  old  gal,  and  'mazin' 
smart  to  work,"  he  began.  "  Tell  you,  she  holds  all  she  gets. 
Old  Sol,  he  told  me  a  story  'bout  her  that  was  a  pretty  good 
un." 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  said  my  grandmother. 

"Wai,  ye  see,  you  'member  old  Parson  Jedutlmn  Kendall, 
that  lives  up  in  Stony  town  :  he  lost  his  wife  a  year  ago  last 
Thanksgiving,  and  he  thought  't  was  about  time  he  hed  another  ; 
so  he  comes  down  and  consults  our  Parson  Lothrop.  Says  he, 
'I  want  a  good,  smart,  neat,  economical  woman,  with  a  good 
property.  I  don't  care  nothin'  about  her  bein'  handsome.  In 
fact,  I  ain't  particular  about  anything  else/  says  he.  Wai,  Par- 
son Lothrop,  says  he,  '  I  think,  if  that 's  the  case,  I  know  jest  the 
woman  to  suit  ye.  She  owns  a  clear,  handsome  property,  and 
she  's  neat  and  economical ;  but  she  's  no  beauty.'  '  0,  beauty  is 
nothin'  to  me,'  says  Parson  Kendall ;  and  so  he  took  the  direc- 
tion. Wai,  one  day  he  hitched  up  his  old  one-hoss  shay,  and 
kind  o'  brushed  up,  and  started  off  a  courtin'.  Wai,  the  parson 
he  come  to  the  house,  and  he  was  tickled  to  pieces  with  the  looks 
o'  things  outside,  'cause  the  house  is  all  well  shingled  and  paint- 
ed, and  there  ain't  a  picket  loose  nor  a  nail  wantin'  nowhere. 
'  This  'ere  's  the  woman  for  me,'  says  Parson  Kendall.  So  he 


SAM  LAWSON'S  DISCOVERIES.  177 

goes  up  and  raps  hard  on  the  front  door  with  his  whip-handle. 
Wai,  you  see,  Miss  Sphyxy,  she  was  jest  goin'  out  to  help  get  in 
her  hay.  She  had  on  a  pair  o'  clompin'  cowhide  boots,  and  a 
pitchfork  in  her  hand,  just  goin'  out  when  she  heard  the  rap. 
So  she  come  jest  as  she  was  to  the  front  door.  Now  you  know 
Parson  Kendall 's  a  little  midget  of  a  man ;  but  he  stood  there 
on  the  step  kind  o'  smilin'  and  genteel,  lickin'  his  lips  and  lookin' 
so  agreeable  !  Wai,  the  front  door  kind  o'  stuck,  —  front  doors 
gen'ally  do,  ye  know,  'cause  they  ain't  opened  very  often,  —  and 
Miss  Sphyxy,  she  had  to  pull  and  haul  and  put  to  all  her  strength, 
and  finally  it  come  open  with  a  bang,  and  she  'peared  to  the  par- 
son, pitchfork  and  all,  sort  o'  frownin'  like. 

" t  What  do  you  want  ? '  says  she  ;  for  you  see  Miss  Sphyxy 
ain't  no  ways  tender  to  the  men. 

" '  I  want  to  see  Miss  Asphyxia  Smith/  says  he,  very  civil, 
thinking  she  was  the  hired  gal. 

"  '  1  'm  Miss  Asphyxia  Smith/  says  she.  '  What  do  you  want 
o'  me  ? ' 

"  Parson  Kendall,  he  jest  took  one  good  look  on  her,  from  top 
to  toe.  '  Nothing'  says  he,  and  turned  right  round  and  went 
down  the  steps  like  lightnin'. 

"  The  way  she  banged  that  'ere  door,  Sol  said,  was  lively. 
He  jumped  into  his  shay,  and  I  tell  you  his  old  hoss  was  waked 
up  for  once.  The  way  that  'ere  old  shay  spun  and  bounced  was 
a  sight.  And  when  he  come  to  Oldtown,  Parson  Lothrop  was 
walkin'  out  in  his  wig  and  cocked  hat  and  ruffles,  as  serene  as  a 
pictur,  and  he  took  off  his  hat  to  him  as  handsome  as  a  gen- 
tleman could ;  but  Parson  Kendall,  he  driv  right  by  and  never 
bowed.  He  was  awful  riled,  Parson  Kendall  was ;  but  he 
could  n't  say  nothin',  'cause  he  'd  got  all  he  asked  for.  But  the 
story  got  out,  and  Sol  and  the  men  heard  it,  and  you  'd  a  thought 
they  'd  never  be  done  laughin'  about  it.  Sol  says,  if  he  was  to 
be  hung  for  it  the  next  minute,  he  never  can  help  laughin'  when 
he  thinks  how  kind  o'  scared  little  Parson  Kendall  looked  when 
Miss  Asphyxia  'peared  to  him  on  the  doorstep." 

"  Well,  well,  well/'  said  Uncle  Eliakim,  "  if  we  are  going  to 
the  Dench  house  to-morrow  morning,  you  must  all  be  up  early, 

8*  L 


178  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

for  I  mean  to  be  off  by  daylight ;  and  we  'd  better  all  go  to  bed." 
"With  which  remark  he  fluttered  out  of  the  kitchen. 

"  'Liakini  '11  be  along  here  by  ten  o'clock  to-morrow,"  said  my 
grandfather,  quietly.  "  I  don't  suppose  he 's  promised  more  than 
forty  people  to  do  something  for  them  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  and  the  linch-pins  of  the  wagon  are 
probably  lost,  and  the  tire  of  the  wheels  sprung ;  but  he  '11 
be  up  before  daylight,  and  maybe  get  along  some  time  in  the 
forenoon." 


THE   VISIT   TO   THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE.  179 

CHAPTEE    XVII. 

THE    VISIT    TO    THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE. 

MY  story  now  approaches  a  point  in  which  I  am  soon  to 
meet  and  begin  to  feel  the  force  of  a  train  of  circumstances 
which  ruled  and  shaped  my  whole  life.  That  I  had  been  hitherto 
a  somewhat  exceptional  child  may  perhaps  have  been  made  ap- 
parent in  the  incidents  I  have  narrated.  I  was  not,  in  fact,  in 
the  least  like  what  an  average  healthy  boy  ought  to  be.  My 
brother  Bill  was  exactly  that,  and  nothing  more.  He  was  a 
good,  growing,  well-limbed,  comfortably  disposed  animal,  reason- 
ably docile,  and  capable,  under  fair  government,  of  being  made  to 
go  exactly  in  any  paths  his  elders  chose  to  mark  out  for  him. 

It  had  been  settled,  the  night  after  my  father's  funeral,  that 
my  Uncle  Jacob  was  to  have  him  for  a  farm-boy,  to  work  in  the 
summer  on  the  farm,  and  to  pick  up  his  education  as  he  might  at 
the  district  school  in  the  winter  season ;  and  thus  my  mother  was 
relieved  of  the  burden  of  his  support,  and  Aunt  Lois  of  his  super- 
fluous activity  in  our  home  department.  To  me  the  loss  was  a 
small  one  ;  for  except  a  very  slight  sympathy  of  souls  in  the  mat- 
ter of  fish-hooks  and  popguns,  there  was  scarcely  a  single  feel- 
ing that  we  had  in  common.  I  had  a  perfect  passion  for  books, 
and  he  had  a  solid  and  well-pronounced  horror  of  them,  which 
seems  to  belong  to  the  nature  of  a  growing  boy.  I  could  read,  as 
by  a  kind  of  preternatural  instinct,  as  soon  as  I  could  walk  ;  and 
reading  was  with  me  at  ten  years  a  devouring  passion.  No  mat- 
ter what  the  book  was  that  was  left  in  my  vicinity,  I  read  it  as 
by  an  irresistible  fascination.  To  be  sure,  I  preferred  stories, 
history,  and  lively  narrative,  where  such  material  was  to  be  had ; 
but  the  passion  for  reading  was  like  hunger,  —  it  must  be  fed,  and, 
in  the  absence  of  palatable  food,  preyed  upon  what  it  could  find. 
So  it  came  to  pass  that  theological  tracts,  treatises  on  agriculture, 
.old  sermons,  —  anything,  in  short,  that  could  be  raked  out  of  the 


180  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

barrels  and  boxes  in  my  grandfather's  garret,  —  would  hold  me  ab- 
sorbed in  some  shady  nook  of  the  house  when  I  ought  to  have  been 
out  playing  as  a  proper  boy  should.  I  did  not,  of  course,  under- 
stand the  half  of  what  I  read,  and  miscalled  the  words  to  myself 
in  a  way  that  would  have  been  laughable  had  anybody  heard  me  ; 
but  the  strange,  unknown  sounds  stimulated  vague  and  dreamy 
images  in  my  mind,  which  were  continually  seething,  changing, 
and  interweaving,  like  fog-wreaths  by  moonlight,  and  formed  a 
phantasmagoria  in  which  I  took  a  quaint  and  solemn  delight. 

But  there  was  one  peculiarity  of  my  childhood  which  I  have 
hesitated  with  an  odd  sort  of  reluctance  to  speak  of,  and  yet 
which  so  powerfully  influenced  and  determined  my  life,  and  that 
of  all  with  whom  I  was  connected,  that  it  must  find  some  place 
here.  I  was,  as  I  said,  dreamy  and  imaginative,  with  a  mind  full 
of  vague  yearnings.  But  beside  that,  through  an  extreme  deli- 
cacy of  nervous  organization,  my  childish  steps  were  surrounded 
by  a  species  of  vision  or  apparition  so  clear  and  distinct  that  I 
often  found  great  difficulty  in  discriminating  between  the  forms  of 
real  life  and  these  shifting  shapes,  that  had  every  appearance  of 
reality,  except  that  they  dissolved  at  the  touch.  All  my  favorite 
haunts  had  their  particular  shapes  and  forms,  which  it  afforded 
me  infinite  amusement  to  watch  in  their  varying  movements. 

Particularly  at  night,  after  I  had  gone  to  bed  and  the  candle 
was  removed  from  my  room,  the  whole  atmosphere  around  my 
bed  seemed  like  that  which  Raphael  has  shadowed  forth  around 
his  Madonna  San  Sisto,  —  a  palpitating  crowd  of  faces  and  forms 
changing  in  dim  and  gliding  quietude.  I  have  often  wondered 
whether  any  personal  experience  similar  to  mine  suggested  to  the 
artist  this  living  background  to  his  picture.  For  the  most  part, 
these  phantasms  were  agreeable  to  me,  and  filled  me  with  a 
dreamy  delight.  Sometimes  distinct  scenes  or  visions  would  rise 
before  my  mind,  in  which  I  seemed  to  look  far  beyond  the  walls 
of  the  house,  and  to  see  things  passing  wherein  were  several 
actors.  I  remember  one  of  these,  which  I  saw  very  often,  repre- 
senting a  venerable  old  white-headed  man  playing  on  a  violin. 
He  was  always  accompanied  by  a  tall,  majestic  woman,  dressed 
in  a  strange,  outlandish  costume,  in  which  I  particularly  remarked 


THE   VISIT   TO   THE   HAUNTED  HOUSE.  181 

a  high  fur  cap  of  a  peculiar  form.  As  he  played,  the  woman  ap- 
peared to  dance  in  time  to  the  music.  Another  scene  which  fre- 
quently presented  itself  to  my  eyes  was  that  of  a  green  meadow 
by  the  side  of  a  lake  of  very  calm  water.  From  a  grove  on  one 
side  of  the  lake  would  issue  a  miniature  form  of  a  woman  clothed 
in  white,  with  a  wide  golden  girdle  around  her  waist,  and  long, 
black  hair  hanging  down  to  her  middle,  which  she  constantly 
smoothed  down  with  both  her  hands,  with  a  gentle,  rhythmical 
movement,  as  she  approached  me.  At  a  certain  point  of  ap- 
proach, she  always  turned  her  back,  and  began  a  rapid  retreat 
into  the  grove;  and  invariably  as  she  turned  there  appeared  be- 
hind her  the  image  of  a  little  misshapen  dwarf,  who  pattered  after 
her  with  ridiculous  movements  which  always  made  me  laugh. 
Night  after  night,  during  a  certain  year  of  my  life,  this  panto- 
mime never  failed  to  follow  the  extinguishment  of  the  candle,  and 
it  was  to  me  a  never-failing  source  of  delight.  One  thing  was 
peculiar  about  these  forms, —  they  appeared  to  cause  a  vibration 
of  the  great  central  nerves  of  the  body,  as  when  a  harp-string  is 
struck.  So  I  could  feel  in  myself  the  jar  of  the  dwarf's  patter- 
ing feet,  the  soft,  rhythmic  movement  of  the  little  woman  stroking 
down  her  long  hair,  the  vibrations  of  the  violin,  and  the  steps  of 
the  dancing  old  woman.  Nobody  knew  of  this  still  and  hidden 
world  of  pleasure  which  was  thus  nightly  open  to  me.  My 
mother  used  often  to  wonder,  when,  hours  after  she  put  ine  to 
bed,  she  would  find  me  lying  perfectly  quiet,  wkh  my  eyes  wide- 
ly and  calmly  open.  Once  or  twice  I  undertook  to  tell  her  what 
I  saw,  but  was  hushed  up  with,  "  Nonsense,  child !  there  has  n't 
been  anybody  in  the  room  ;  you  should  n't  talk  so." 

The  one  thing  that  was  held  above  all  things  sacred  and  invio- 
lable in  a  child's  education  in  those  old  Puritan  days  was  to  form 
habits  of  truth.  Every  statement  received  an  immediate  and 
unceremonious  sifting,  and  anything  that  looked  in  the  least  like 
a  departure  from  actual  verity  was  met  with  prompt  and  strin- 
gent discouragement.  When  my  mother  repeated  before  Aunt 
Lois  some  of  my  strange  sayings,  she  was  met  with  the  down- 
right declaration:  "That  child  will  be  an  awful  liar,  Susy,  if 
you  don't  keep  a  strict  lookout  on  him.  Don't  you  let  him  tell 
you  any  stones  like  that." 


182  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

So  I  early  learned  silence ;  but  my  own  confidence  in  the  real- 
ity of  my  secondary  world  was  not  a  whit  diminished.  Like 
Galileo,  who  said,  "It  does  move,  nevertheless,"  so  I,  when  I  once 
had  the  candle  out  at  night,  snapped  my  fingers  mentally  at  Aunt 
Lois,  and  enjoyed  my  vision. 

One  peculiarity  of  these  appearances  was  that  certain  of  them 
seemed  like  a  sort  of  genii  loci,  —  shapes  belonging  to  certain 
places.  The  apparition  of  the  fairy  woman  with  the  golden  girdle 
only  appeared  in  a  certain  room  where  I  slept  one  year,  and 
which  had  across  one  of  its  corners  a  sort  of  closet  called  a  buffet. 
From  this  buffet  the  vision  took  its  rise,  and  when  my  parents 
moved  to  another  house  it  never  appeared  again. 

A  similar  event  in  my  shadow-world  had  marked  our  com- 
ing to  my  grandmother's  to  live.  The  old  violin-player  and  his 
wife  had  for  a  long  time  been  my  nightly  entertainers ;  but  the 
first  night  after  we  were  established  in  the  apartment  given  up  to 
our  use  by  Aunt  Lois,  I  saw  them  enter  as  they  usually  did,  seem- 
ing to  come  right  through  the  wall  of  the  room.  They,  how- 
ever, surveyed  the  apartment  with  a  sort  of  confused,  discon- 
tented movement,  and  seemed  to  talk  to  each  other  with  their 
backs  to  me ;  finally  I  heard  the  old  woman  say,  "  We  can't  stay 
here,"  and  immediately  I  saw  them  passing  through  the  wall  of 
the  house.  I  saw  after  them  as  clearly  as  if  the  wall  had  dis- 
solved and  given  my  eyes  the  vision  of  all  out  of  doors.  They 
went  to  my  grandfather's  wood-pile  and  looked  irresolutely  round  ; 
finally  they  mounted  on  the  pile,  and  seemed  to  sink  gradually 
through  it  and  disappear,  and  I  never  saw  them  afterwards. 

But  another  of  the  companions  of  my  solitude  was  more  con- 
stant to  me.  This  was  the  form  of  a  young  boy  of  about  my 
own  age,  who  for  a  year  past  had  frequently  come  to  me  at  night, 
and  seemed  to  look  lovingly  upon  me,  and  with  whom  I  used  to 
have  a  sort  of  social  communion,  without  words,  in  a  manner 
which  seemed  to  me  far  more  perfect  than  human  language.  I 
thought  to  him,  and  in  return  I  received  silent  demonstrations  of 
sympathy  and  fellowship  from  him.  I  called  him  Harvey,  and 
used,  as  I  lay  looking  in  his  face,  mentally  to  tell  him  many  things 
about  the  books  I  read,  the  games  I  played,  and  the  childish  joys 


THE   VISIT   TO   THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE.  183 

and  griefs  I  had ;  and  in  return  he  seemed  to  express  affection 
and  sympathy  by  a  strange  communication,  as  lovers  sometimes 
talk  to  each  other  by  distant  glances. 

Attendant  on  all  these  exceptional  experiences,  perhaps  re- 
sulting from  them,  was  a  peculiar  manner  of  viewing  the  human 
beings  by  whom  I  was  surrounded.  It  is  common  now-a-days  to 
speak  of  the  sphere  or  emanation  that  surrounds  a  person.  To 
my  childish  mind  there  was  a  vivid  perception  of  something  of 
this  nature  with  regard  to  every  one  whom  I  approached.  There 
were  people  for  whom  I  had  a  violent  and  instinctive  aversion, 
whose  presence  in  the  room  gave  me  a  pain  so  positive  that  it 
seemed  almost  physical,  and  others,  again,  to  whom  I  was  strong- 
ly attracted,  and  whose  presence  near  me  filled  me  with  agree- 
able sensations,  of  which  I  could  give  no  very  definite  account. 
For  this  reason,  I  suppose,  the  judgments  which  different  people 
formed  concerning  me  varied  extremely.  Miss  Mehitable,  for 
example,  by  whom  I  was  strongly  attracted,  thought  rne  one  of 
the  most  amiable  of  boys ;  while  my  poor  Aunt  Lois  was  certain 
I  was  one  of  the  most  trying  children  that  ever  were  born. 

My  poor  mother !  I  surely  loved  her,  and  yet  her  deficient 
vital  force,  her  continual  sadness  and  discouragement,  acted  on 
•my  nerves  as  a  constant  weight  and  distress,  against  which  J 
blindly  and  instinctively  struggled  ;  while  Aunt  Lois's  very  foot- 
step on  the  stair  seemed  to  rouse  every  nerve  of  combativeness 
in  my  little  body  into  a  state  of  bristling  tension.  I  remember 
that  when  I  was  about  six  or  seven  years  old  I  had  the  scarlet- 
fever,  and  Aunt  Lois,  who  was  a  most  rampant  and  energetic 
sick-nurse,  undertook  to  watch  with  me ;  but  my  cries  and  resist- 
ance were  so  terrible  that  I  was  thought  to  be  going  deranged. 
Finally  the  matter  was  adjusted  by  Sam  Lawson's  offering  to 
take  the  place,  upon  which  I  became  perfectly  tranquil,  and  re- 
signed myself  into  his  hands  with  the  greatest  composure  and 
decorum.  Sam  was  to  me,  during  my  childhood,  a  guide,  phi- 
losopher, and  friend.  The  lazy,  easy,  indefinite  atmosphere  of 
being  that  surrounded  him  was  to  me  like  the  haze  of  Indian 
summer  over  a  landscape,  and  I  delighted  to  bask  in  it.  Noth- 
ing about  him  was  any  more  fixed  than  the  wavering  shadows 


184  OLD! OWN   FOLKS. 

of  clouds ;  lie  was  a  boundless  world  of  narrative  and  dreamy 
suggestion,  tending  to  no  point  and  having  no  end,  and  in  it 
I  delighted.  Sam,  besides,  had  a  partiality  for  all  those  haunts 
in  which  I  took  pleasure.  Near  our  house  was  the  old  town 
burying-ground,  where  reposed  the  bones  of  generations  of  In- 
dian sachems,  elders,  pastors,  and  teachers,  converted  from  the 
wild  forests,  who,  Christianized  and  churched,  died  in  the  faith, 
and  were  gathered  into  Christian  burial.  On  its  green  hillocks  I 
loved  to  sit  and  watch  and  dream  long  after  sundown  or  moon- 
rise,  and  fancy  I  saw  bands  of  wavering  shapes,  and  hope  that 
some  one  out  of  the  crowd  might  have  a  smile  of  recognition  or 
a  spiritual  word  for  me. 

My  mother  and  grandmother  and  Aunt  Lois  were  horror- 
stricken  by  such  propensities,  indicating  neither  more  nor  less 
than  indefinite  coughs  and  colds,  with  early  death  in  the 'rear; 
and  however  much  in  the  way  a  little  boy  always  seemed  in  those 
times  in  the  active  paths  of  his  elders,  yet  it  was  still  esteemed 
a  primary  duty  to  keep  him  in  the  world.  "  Horace,  what  do 
you  go  and  sit  in  the  graveyard  for  ? "  would  my  grandmother 
say.  "  I  should  think  you  'd  be  'fraid  something  would  'pear  to 
you." 

"  I  want  something  to  appear,  grandmother." 

"  Pshaw,  pshaw  !  no,  you  don't.  What  do  you  want  to  be  so 
odd  for  ?  Don't  you  ever  say  such  things." 

Sam,  however,  was  willing  to  aid  and  abet  me  in  strolling  and 
lounging  anywhere  and  at  any  hour,  and  lent  a  willing  ear  to  my 
tales  of  what  I  saw,  and  had  in  his  capacious  wallet  a  pendent 
story  or  a  spiritual  precedent  for  anything  that  I  could  mention. 

On  this  night,  after  he  had  left  me,  I  went  to  bed  with  my 
mind  full  of  the  haunted  house,  and  all  that  was  to  be  hoped  or 
feared  from  its  exploration.  Whether  this  was  the  cause  or  not, 
the  result  was  that  Harvey  appeared  nearer  and  more  friendly 
than  ever ;  and  he  held  by  his  hand  another  boy,  whose  figure 
appeared  to  me  like  a  faintly  discerned  form  in  a  mist.  Some- 
times the  mist  seemed  to  waver  and  part,  and  I  caught  indistinct 
glimpses  of  bright  yellow  curls  and  clear  blue  eyes,  and  then 
Harvey  smiled  and  shook  his  head.  When  he  began  to  disap- 


THE  VISIT   TO  THE   HAUNTED  HOUSE.  185 

pear,  he  said  to  me,  "  Good  by";  and  I  felt  an  inward  assurance 
that  he  was  about  to  leave  me.  I  said  my  "  Good  by  "  aloud, 
and  stretched  out  my  hands. 

"  Why,  Horace,  Horace !  "  said  my  mother,  waking  suddenly 
at  the  sound  of  my  voice,  —  "  Horace,  wake  up ;  you  've  been 
dreaming." 

I  had  not  even  been  asleep,  but  I  did  not  tell  her  so,  and  turn- 
ing over,  as  I  usually  did  when  the  curtain  fell  over  my  dream- 
land, I  was  soon  asleep.  I  was  wide  awake  with  the  earliest 
peep  of  dawn  the  next  morning,  and  had  finished  dressing  my- 
self before  my  mother  awoke. 

Ours  was  an  early  household,  and  the  brisk  tap  of  Aunt 
Lois's  footsteps,  and  the  rattling  of  chairs  and  dishes  in  the 
kitchen,  showed  that  breakfast  was  in  active  preparation. 

My  grandfather's  prediction  with  regard  to  my  Uncle  Eliakim 
proved  only  too  correct.  The  fact  was,  that  the  poor  man  lived 
always  in  the  whirl  of  a  perfect  Maelstrom  of  promises  and  en- 
gagements, which  were  constantly  converging  towards  every  hour 
of  his  unoccupied  time.  His  old  wagon  and  horse  both  felt 
the  effects  of  such  incessant  activity,  and  such  deficient  care  and 
attention  as  were  consequent  upon  it,  and  were  at  all  times  in  a 
state  of  dilapidation.  Therefore  it  was  that  the  next  morning 
nine,  ten,  and  eleven  o'clock  appeared,  and  no  Uncle  Eliakim. 

Sam  Lawson  had  for  more  than  two  hours  been  seated  in  an 
expectant  attitude  on  our  doorstep ;  but  as  the  sun  shone  warm, 
and  he  had  a  large  mug  of  cider  between  his  hands,  he  appeared 
to  enjoy  his  mind  with  great  equanimity. 

Aunt  Lois  moved  about  the  house  with  an  air  and  manner  of 
sharp  contempt,  which  exhibited  itself  even  in  the  way  she  did 
her  household  tasks.  She  put  down  plates  as  if  she  despised 
them,  and  laid  sticks  of  wood  on  the  fire  with  defiant  thumps,  as 
much  as  to  say  that  she  knew  some  things  that  had  got  to  be  in 
time  and  place  if  others  were  not ;  but  she  spake  no  word. 

Aunt  Lois,  as  I  have  often  said  before,  was  a  good  Christian, 
and  held  it  her  duty  to  govern  her  tongue.  True,  she  said  many 
sharp  and  bitter  things ;  but  nobody  but  herself  and  her  God 
knew  how  many  more  she  would  have  said  had  she  not  reined 


186  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

herself  up  in  conscientious  silence.  But  never  was  there  a  wo- 
man whose  silence  could  express  more  contempt  and  displeasure 
than  hers.  You  could  feel  it  in  the  air  about  you,  though  she 
never  said  a  word.  You  could  feel  it  in  the  rustle  of  her  dress, 
in  the  tap  of  her  heels  over  the  floor,  in  the  occasional  flash  of 
her  sharp,  black  eye.  She  was  like  a  thunder-cloud  whose  quiet 
is  portentous,  and  from  which  you  every  moment  expect  a  flash 
or  an  explosion.  This  whole  morning's  excursion  was  contrary 
toher  mind  and  judgment, —  an  ill-advised,  ill-judged,  shiftless 
proceeding,  and  being  entered  on  in  a  way  as  shiftless. 

"  What  time  do  you  suppose  it  is,  mother?"  she  at  last  said  to 
my  grandmother,  who  was  busy  in  her  buttery. 

"  Massy,  Lois !  I  dare  n't  look,"  called  out  my  grandmother, 
who  was  apt  to  fall  behindhand  of  her  desires  in  the  amount  of 
work  she  could  bring  to  pass  of  a,  morning.  "  I  don't  want  to 
know." 

"  Well,  it 's  eleven  o'clock,"  said  Lois,  relentlessly,  "  and  no 
signs  of  Uncle  'Liakim  yet ;  and  there  's  Sam  Lawson,  I  s'pose 
he's  going  to  spend  the  day  on  our  doorstep." 

Sam  Lawson  looked  after  my  Aunt  Lois  as  she  went  out  of 
the  kitchen.  "  Lordy  massy,  Horace,  I  would  n't  be  so  kind  o' 
unreconciled  as  she  is  all  the  time  for  nothin'.  Now  /  might  get 
into  a  fluster  'cause  /  'm  kep'  a  waitin',  but  I  don't.  I  think  it 's 
our  duty  to  be  willin'  to  wait  quiet  till  things  come  round ;  this 
'ere  's  a  world  where  things  can't  be  driv',  and  folks  must  n't  set 
their  heart  on  havin'  everything  come  out  jes'  so,  'cause  ef  they 
do  they  '11  allers  be  in  a  stew,  like  Hepsy  and  Miss  Lois  there. 
Let  'em  jest  wait  quiet,  and  things  allers  do  come  round  in  the 
end  as  well  or  better  'n  ef  you  worried." 

And  as  if  to  illustrate  and  justify  this  train  of  thought,  Uncle 
Eliakim's  wagon  at  this  moment  came  round  the  corner  of  the 
street,  driving  at  a  distracted  pace.  The  good  man  came  with 
such  headlong  speed  and  vivacity  that  his  straw  hat  was  taken 
off  by  the  breeze,  and  flew  far  behind  him,  and  he  shot  up  to  our 
door,  as  he  usually  did  to  that  of  the  meeting-house,  as  if  he 
were  going  to  drive  straight  in. 

"Lordy  massy,  Mr.  Sheril,"  said  Sam,  "don't  get  out;   I'll 


THE   VISIT   TO  THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE.  187 

get  your  hat.  Horace,  you  jest  run  and  pick  it  up  ;  that 's  a 
good  boy." 

I  ran  accordingly,  but  my  uncle  had  sprung  out  as  lively  as  an 
autumn  grasshopper.  "  I  've  been  through  a  sea  of  troubles  this 
morning,"  he  said.  "  I  lent  my  waggin  to  Jake  Marshall  yester- 
day afternoon,  to  take  his  wife  a  ride.  I  thought  if  Jake  was  a 
mind  to  pay  the  poor  woman  any  attention,  I  'd  help  ;  but  when 
he  brought  it  back  last  night,  one  of  the  bolts  was  broken,  and 
the  harness  gave  out  in  two  places." 

"  Want  to  know  ? "  said  Sam,  leisurely  examining  the  establish- 
ment. "I  think  the  neighbors  ought  to  subscribe  to  keep  up 
your  team,  Mr.  Sheril,  for  it 's  free  to  the  hull  on  'em." 

"  And  what  thanks  does  he  get  ? "  said  Aunt  Lois,  sharpl}'. 
"  Well,  Uncle  'Liakim,  it 's  almost  dinner-time." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,  I  know  it,  Lois.  But  there  's  been  a 
lot  o'  things  to  do  this  morning.  Just  as  I  got  the  waggin  mended 
come  Aunt  Bathsheba  Sawin's  boy  and  put  me  in  mind  that  I 
promised  to  carry  her  corn  to  grind ;  and  I  had  to  stop  and  take 
that  round  to  mill ;  and  then  I  remembered  the  pills  that  was  to 
go  to  Hannah  Dexter  —  " 

"  I  dare  say,  and  forty  more  things  like  it,"  said  Aunt  Lois. 

"  Well,  jump  in  now,"  said  Uncle  Fly ;  "  we  '11  be  over  and 
back  in  no  time." 

"  You  may  as  well  put  it  off  till  after  dinner  now,"  said  Aunt 
Lois. 

"  Could  n't  stop  for  that,"  said  Uncle  'Liakim ;  "  my  afternoon 
is  all  full  now.  I  've  got  to  be  in  twenty  places  before  night." 
And  away  we  rattled,  while  Aunt  Lois  stood  looking  after  us 
in  silent,  unutterable  contempt. 

"  Stop  !  stop !  stop  !  Whoa  !  whoa !  "  said  Uncle  'Liakim, 
drawing  suddenly  up.  "  There  's  that  plaster  for  Widdah  Pe- 
ters, after  all.  I  wonder  if  Lois  would  n't  just  run  up  with  it." 
By  this  time  he  had  turned  the  horse,  who  ran,  with  his  usual 
straightforward,  blind  directness,  in  a  right  line,  against  the 
doorstep  again. 

"  Well,  what  now  ? "  said  Aunt  Lois,  appearing  at  the  door. 

"  Why,  Lois,  I  've  just  come  back  to  tell  you  I  forgot  I  prom- 


188  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

ised  to  carry  Widdah  Peters  that  plaster  for  lumbago  ;  could  n't 
you  just  find  time  to  run  up  there  with  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  give  it  to  me,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  with  sharp  precision, 
and  an  air  of  desperate  patience. 

"  Yes,  ye*s,  I  will,"  said  Uncle  Fly,  standing  up  and  beginning 
a  rapid  search  into  that  series  of  pockets  which  form  a  distin- 
guishing mark  of  masculine  habiliments, —  searching  with  such 
hurried  zeal  that  he  really  seemed  intent  on  tearing  himself  to 
pieces.  "  Here  't  is  !  —  no,  pshaw,  pshaw  !  that 's  my  handker- 
chief! O,  here!  —  pshaw,  pshaw  !  Why,  where  is  it  ?  Didn't 
I  put  it  in  ?  —  or  did  I  —  0,  here  it  is  in  my  vest-pocket ;  no, 
though.  Where  a  plague ! "  and  Uncle  Fly  sprang  from  the 
wagon  and  began  his  usual  active  round-and-round  chase  after 
himself,  slapping  his  pockets,  now  before  and  now  behind,  and 
whirling  like  a  dancing  dervis,  while  Aunt  Lois  stood  regarding 
him  with  stony  composure. 

"  If  you  could  ever  think  where  anything  was,  before  you  be- 
gan to  talk  about  it,  it  would  be  an  improvement,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  fact  is,"  said  Uncle  Eliakim,  "  now  I  think  of  it,  Mis' 
Sheril  made  me  change  my  coat  just  as  I  came  out,  and  that 's 
the  whole  on  't.  You  just  run  up,  Lois,  and  tell  Mis'  Sheril  to 
send  one  of  the  boys  down  to  Widdah  Peters's  with  the  plaster 
she  '11  find  in  the  pocket,  —  right-hand  side.  Come  now,  get 
up." 

These  last  words  were  addressed,  not  to  Aunt  Lois,  but  to  the 
horse,  who,  kept  in  rather  a  hungry  and  craving  state  by  his  mas- 
ter's hurrying  manner  of  life,  had  formed  the  habit  of  sedulously 
improving  every  spare  interval  in  catching  at  a  mouthful  of  any- 
thing to  eat,  and  had  been  accordingly  busy  in  cropping  away  a 
fringe  of  very  green  grass  that  was  growing  up  by  the  kitchen 
doorstep,  from  which  occupation  he  was  remorselessly  twitched 
up  and  started  on  an  impetuous  canter. 

"  Wai,  now  I  hope  we  're  fairly  started,"  said  Sam  Lawson  ; 
"  and,  Mr.  Sheril,  you  may  as  well,  while  you  are  about  it,  take 
the  right  road  as  the  wrong  one,  'cause  that  'ere  saves  time.  It 's 
pleasant  enough  anywhere,  to  be  sure,  to-day ;  but  when  a  body 's 
goin'  to  a  place,  a  body  likes  to  get  there,  as  it  were." 


THE   VISIT   TO   THE  HAUNTED   HOUSE.  189 

"  Well,  well,  well,"  said  Uncle  Fly,  "  we  're  on  the  right  road, 
ain't  we  ?  " 

"  Wai,  so  fur  you  be  ;  but  when  you  come  out  on  the  plains, 
you  must  take  the  fust  left-hand  road  that  drives  through  the 
woods,  and  you  may  jest  as  well  know  as  much  aforehand." 

"  Much  obliged  to  you,"  said  my  uncle.  "  I  reely  had  n't 
thought  particularly  about  the  way." 

"  S'pose  not,"  said  Sam,  composedly ;  "  so  it 's  jest  as  well  you 
took  me  along.  Lordy  massy,  there  ain't  a  road  nor  a  cart-path 
round  Oldtown  that  I  hain't  been  over,  time  and  time  agin.  I  be- 
lieve I  could  get  through  any  on  'em  the  darkest  night  that  ever 
was  hatched.  Jake  Marshall  and  me  has  been  Indianing  round 
these  'ere  woods  more  times  'n  you  could  count.  It 's  kind  o' 
pleasant,  a  nice  bright  day  like  this  'ere,  to  be  a  joggin'  along  in 
the  woods.  Everything  so  sort  o'  still,  ye  know ;  and  ye  hear 
the  chestnuts  a  droppin',  and  the  wa'nuts.  Jake  and  me,  last 
fall,  went  up  by  Widdah  Peters's  one  day,  and  shuck  them  trees, 
and  got  nigh  about  a  good  bushel  o'  wa'nuts.  I  used  to  kind  o' 
like  to  crack  'em  for  the  young  uns,  nights,  last  winter,  when 
Hepsy  'd  let  em  sit  up.  Though  she 's  allers  for  drivin'  on  'em 
all  oiF  to  bed,  and  makin'  it  kind  o'  solitary,  Hepsy  is."  And 
Sam  concluded  the  conjugal  allusion  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  into  the  grounds  of  the  Dench  house  ?  " 
said  Uncle  Fly. 

"  Wai,  no,  not  reely ;  but  Jake,  he  has ;  and  ben  into  the 
house  too.  There  was  a  fellow  named  'Biah  Smith  that  used  to 
be  a  kind  o'  servant  to  the  next  family  that  come  in  after  Lady 
Frankland  went  out,  and  he  took  Jake  all  over  it  once  when  there 
wa'  n't  nobody  there.  'Biah,  he  said  that  when  Sir  Harry  lived 
there,  there  was  one  room  that  was  always  kept  shet  up,  and 
wa'  n't  never  gone  into,  and  in  that  'ere  room  there  was  the  long 
red  cloak,  and  the  hat  and  sword,  and  all  the  clothes  he  hed 
on  when  he  was  buried  under  the  ruins  in  that  'ere  earthquake. 
They  said  that  every  year,  when  the  day  of  the  earthquake  come 
round,  Sir  Harry  used  to  spend  it  a  fastin'  and  prayin'  in  that 
'ere  room,  all  alone.  'Biah  says  that  he  had  talked  with  a  fellow 
that  was  one  of  Sir  Harry's  body-servants,  and  he  told  him  that 


190  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Sir  Harry  used  to  come  out  o'  that  'ere  room  lookin'  more  like  a 
ghost  than  a  live  man,  when  he'  d  fasted  and  prayed  for  twenty- 
four  hours  there.  Nobody  knows  what  might  have  'peared  to 
him  there." 

I  wondered  much  in  my  own  quiet  way  at  this  story,  and  mar- 
velled whether,  in  Sir  Harry's  long,  penitential  watchings,  he  had 
seen  the  air  of  the  room  all  tremulous  with  forms  and  faces  such 
as  glided  around  me  in  my  solitary  hours. 

"Naow,  you  see,"  said  Sam  Lawson,  "when  the  earthquake 
come,  Sir  Harry,  he  was  a  driving  with  a  court  lady ;  and  she, 
poor  soul,  went  into  'tarnity  in  a  minit,  —  'thout  a  minit  to  pre- 
pare. And  I  'spect  there  ain't  no  reason  to  s'pose  but  what 
she  was  a  poor,  mis'able  Roman  Catholic.  So  her  prospects 
could  n't  have  been  noways  encouragin'.  And  it  must  have 
borne  on  Sir  Harry's  mind  to  think  she  should  be  took  and 
he  spared,  when  he  was  a  cuttin'  up  just  in  the  way  he  was.  I 
should  n't  wonder  but  she  should  'pear  to  him.  You  know  they 
say  there  is  a  woman  in  white  walks  them  grounds,  and  'Biah,  he 
says,  as  near  as  he  can  find  out,  it 's  that  'ere  particular  chamber 
as  she  allers  goes  to.  'Biah  said  he  'd  seen  her  at  the  windows  a 
wringin'  her  hands  and  a  cryin'  fit  to  break  her  heart,  poor  soul. 
Kind  o'  makes  a  body  feel  bad,  'cause,  arter  all,  't  wa!  n't  her  fault 
she  was  born  a  Roman  Catholic,  — now  was  it  ?  " 

The  peculiarity  of  my  own  mental  history  had  this  effect  on 
me  from  a  child,  that  it  wholly  took  away  from  me  all  dread  of 
the  supernatural.  A  world  of  shadowy  forms  had  always  been 
as  much  a  part  of  my  short  earthly  experience  as  the  more  solid 
and  tangible  one  of  real  people.  I  had  just  as  quiet  and  natural 
a  feeling  about  one  as  the  other.  I  had  not  the  slightest  doubt, 
on  hearing  Sam's  story,  that  the  form  of  the  white  lady  did  ten- 
ant those  deserted  apartments  ;  and  so  far  from  feeling  any  chill 
or  dread  in  the  idea,  I  felt  only  a  sort  of  curiosity  to  make  her 
acquaintance. 

Our  way  to  the  place  wound  through  miles  of  dense  forest. 
Sir  Harry  had  chosen  it,  as  a  retreat  from  the  prying  eyes  and 
slanderous  tongues  of  the  world,  in  a  region  of  woodland  soli- 
tude. And  as  we  trotted  leisurely  under  the  bright  scarlet  and 


THE   VISIT   TO   THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE.  191 

yellow  boughs  of  the  forest,  Uncle  Eliakim  and  Sain  discoursed 
of  the  traditions  of  the  place  we  were  going  to. 

"  Who  was  it  bought  the  place  after  Lady  Frankland  went  to 
England  ?  "  said  Uncle  Eliakim. 

"  "Wai,  I  believe  't  was  let  a  spell.  There  was  some  French 
folks  lied  it  'long  through  the  war.  I  heerd  tell  that  they  was 
pretty  high  people.  I  never  could  quite  make  out  when  they 
went  off;  there  was  a  good  many  stories  round  about  it.  I 
did  n't  clearly  make  out  how  't  was,  till  Bench  got  it.  .  Bench, 
you  know,  got  his  money  in  a  pretty  peculiar  way,  ef  all  they 
says  's  true." 

"  How  's  that  ?  "  said  my  uncle. 

"  "Wai,  they  do  say  he  got  the  great  carbuncle  that  was  at  the 
bottom  of  Sepaug  River.  You  've  heard  about  the  great  carbun- 
cle, I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  O,  no !  do  pray  tell  me  about  it,"  said  I,  interrupting  with 
fervor. 

"  Why,  did  n't  you  never  hear  'bout  that  ?  want  to  know. 
Wai,  I  '11  tell  ye,  then.  I  know  all  'bout  it.  Jake  Marshall,  he 
told  me  that  Bench  fust  told  him,  and  he  got  it  from  old  Mother 
Ketury,  ye  know,  —  a  regelar  old  heathen  Injun  Ketury  is, — 
and  folks  do  go  so  fur  as  to  say  that  in  the  old  times  Ketury  'd 
V  ben  took  up  for  a  witch,  though  I  never  see  no  harm  in  her 
ways.  Ef  there  be  sperits,  and  we  all  know  there  is,  what 's  the 
harm  o'  Ketury 's  seem'  on  'em  ?  " 

"  Maybe  she  can't  help  seeing  them,"  suggested  I. 

"  Jes'  so,  jes'  so ;  that  'ere  's  what  I  telled  Jake  when  we  's  a 
talkin'  it  over,  and  he  said  he  did  n't  like  Bench's  havin*  so  much 
to  do  with  old  Ketury.  But  la,  old  Ketury  could  say  the 
Lord's  Prayer  in  Injun,  cause  I  've  heard  her ;  though  she 
would  n't  say  it  when  she  did  n't  want  to  and  she  would  say  it 
when  she  did,  —  jest  as  the  fit  took  her.  But  lordy  massy, 
them  wild  Injuns,  they  ain't  but  jest  half  folks,  they  're  so  kind 
o'  wild,  and  birchy  and  bushy  as  a  body  may  say.  Ef  they 
take  religion  at  all,  it 's  got  to  be  in  their  own  way.  Ef  you  get 
the  wild  beast  all  out  o'  one  on  'em,  there  don't  somehow  seem  to 
be  enough  left  to  make  an  ordinary  smart  man  of,  so  much  on 


192  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

'em's  wild.  Anyhow,  Dencli,  he  was  thick  with  Ketury,  and  slie 
told  him  all  about  the  gret  carbuncle,  and  gin  him  directions 
how  to  get  it." 

"  But  I  don't  know  what  a  great  carbuncle  is,"  I  interrupted. 

"  Lordy  massy,  boy,  did  n't  you  never  read  in  your  Bible 
about  the  New  Jerusalem,  and  the  precious  stones  in  the  founda- 
tion, that  shone  like  the  sun  ?  Wai,  the  carbuncle  was  one  on 
'em." 

"  Did  it  fall  down  out  of  heaven  into  the  river  ?  "  said  I. 

"Mebbe,"  said  Sam.  "At  any  rate  Ketury,  she  told  'em 
what  they  had  to  do  to  get  it.  The}7  had  to  go  out  arter  it  jest 
exactly  at  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  when  the  moon  was  full. 
You  was  to  fast  all  the  day  before,  and  go  fastin',  and  say  the 
Lord's  Prayer  in  Injun  afore  you  went ;  and  when  you  come  to 
where  't  was,  you  was  to  dive  after  it.  But  there  wa'  n't  to  be  a 
word  spoke ;  if  there  was,  it  went  right  off." 

"  What  did  they  have  to  say  the  prayer  in  Indian  for  ? " 
said  I. 

"  Lordy  massy,  boy,  I  s'pose  't  was  'cause  't  was  Indian  sperits 
kep'  a  watch  over  it.  Any  rate  't  was  considerable  of  a  pull  on 
'em,  'cause  Ketury,  she  had  to  teach  'em  ;  and  she  wa'  n't  allers 
in  the  sperit  on  't.  Sometimes  she  's  crosser  'n  torment,  Ketury 
is.  Bench,  he  gin  her  fust  and  last  as  much  as  ten  dollars,  —  so 
Jake  says.  However,  they  got  all  through  with  it,  and  then  come 
a  moonlight  night,  and  they  went  out.  Jake  says  it  was  the 
splendidest  moonlight  ye  ever  did  see,  —  all  jest  as  still,  —  only 
the  frogs  and  the  turtles  kind  o'  peepin' ;  and  they  did  n't  say  a 
word,  and  rowed  out  past  the  pint  there,  where  the  water  's  ten 
feet  deep,  and  he  looked  down  and  see  it  a  shinin'  on  the  bottom 
like  a  great  star,  making  the  waters  all  light  like  a  lantern. 
Dench,  he  dived  for  it,  Jake  said  ;  and  he  saw  him  put  his  hand 
right  on  it ;  and  he  was  so  tickled,  you  know,  to  see  he  'd  got  it, 
that  he  could  n't  help  hollerin'  right  out,  "  There,  you  got  it ! " 
and  it  was  gone.  Dench  was  mad  enough  to  'a'  killed  him ; 
'cause,  when  it  goes  that  'ere  way,  you  can't  see  it  agin  for  a  year 
and  a  day.  But  two  or  three  years  arter,  all  of  a  sudden, 
Dench,  he  seemed  to  kind  o'  spruce  up  and  have  a  deal  o' 


THE   VISIT   TO   THE   HAUNTED  HOUSE.  193 

money  to  spend.  He  said  an  uncle  had  died  and  left  it  to  him 
in  England ;  but  Jake  Marshall  says  you  "11  never  take  him  in 
that  'ere  way.  He  says  he  thinks  it 's  no  better  'n  witchcraft, 
getting  money  that  'ere  way.  Ye  see  Jake  was  to  have  had  half 
if  they  'd  'a'  got  it,  and  not  gettin'  nothin'  kind  o'  sot  him  to 
thinkin'  on  it  in  a  moral  pint  o'  view,  ye  know.  —  But,  lordy 
massy,  where  be  we,  Mr.  Sheril  ?  This  'ere  's  the  second  or 
third  time  we  've  come  round  to  this  'ere  old  dead  chestnut. 
"We  ain't  makin'  no  progress." 

In  fact  there  were  many  and  crossing  cart-paths  through  this 
forest,  which  had  been  worn  by  different  farmers  of  the  vicinity 
in  going  after  their  yearly  supply  of  wood  ;  and,  notwithstanding 
Sam's  assertion  of  superior  knowledge  in  these  matters,  we  had, 
in  the  negligent  inattention  of  his  narrative,  become  involved  in 
this  labyrinth,  and  driven  up  and  down,  and  back  and  forward,  in 
the  wood,  without  seeming  at  all  to  advance  upon  our  errand. 

"  Wai,  I  declare  for  't,  I  never  did  see  nothing  beat  it,"  said 
Sam.  "  We  've  been  goin'  jest  round  and  round  for  this  hour  or 
more,  and  come  out  again  at  exactly  the  same  place.  I  've  heerd 
of  places  that 's  kep'  hid,  and  folks  allers  gets  sort  o'  struck  blind 
and  confused  that  undertakes  to  look  'em  up.  Wai,  I  don't  say 
I  believe  in  sich  stories,  but  this  'ere  is  curous.  Why,  I  'd  'a' 
thought  I  could  V  gone  straight  to  it  blindfolded,  any  day.  Ef 
Jake  Marshall  was  liere,  he'  d  go  straight  to  it." 

"  Well,  Sam,"  said  Uncle  Eliakim,  "it's  maybe  because  you  and 
me  got  so  interested  in  telling  stories  that  we've  missed  the  way." 

«  That  'ere  's  it,  'thout  a  doubt,"  said  Sam.  «  Now  I  '11  just 
hush  up,  and  kind  o'  concentrate  my  'tention.  I  '11  just  git  out 
and  walk  a  spell,  and  take  an  observation." 

The  result  of  this  improved  attention  to  the  material  facts  of 
the  case  was,  that  we  soon  fell  into  a  road  that  seemed  to  wind 
slowly  up  a  tract  of  rising  ground,  and  to  disclose  to  our  view, 
through  an  interlacing  of  distant  boughs,  the  western  horizon, 
toward  which  the  sun  was  now  sinking  with  long,  level  beams. 
We  had  been  such  a  time  in  our  wanderings,  that  there  seemed 
ft  prospect  of  night  setting  in  before  we  should  be  through  with 
our  errand  and  ready  to  return. 

9  M 


194  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  The  house  Stan's  on  the  top  of  a  sort  o'  swell  o'  ground,"  said 
Sam ;  "  and  as  nigh  as  I  can  make  it  out,  it  must  be  somewhere 
about  there." 

"  There  is  a  woman  a  little  way  before  us,"  said  I ;  "  why  don't 
you  ask  her  ?  " 

I  saw  very  plainly  in  a  turn  of  the  road  a  woman  whose  face 
was  hidden  by  a  bonnet,  who  stood  as  if  waiting  for  us.  It  was 
not  the  white  woman  of  ghostly  memory,  but  apparently  a  veri- 
table person  in  the  every-day  habiliments  of  common  life,  who 
stood  as  if  waiting  for  us. 

"  I  don't  see  no  woman,"  said  Sam  ;  "  where  is  she  ?  " 

I  pointed  with  my  finger,  but  as  I  did  so  the  form  melted  away. 
I  remember  distinctly  the  leaves  of  the  trees  back  of  it  appear- 
ing through  it  as  through  a  gauze  veil,  and  then  it  disappeared 
entirely. 

"  There  is  n't  any  woman  that  I  can  see,"  said  Uncle  Eliakim, 
briskly.  "  The  afternoon  sun  must  have  got  into  your  eyes,  boy." 

I  had  been  so  often  severely  checked  and  reproved  for  stating 
what  I  saw,  that  I  now  determined  to  keep  silence,  whatever 
might  appear  to  me.  At  a  little  distance  before  us  the  road 
forked,  one  path  being  steep  and  craggy,  and  the  other  easier  of 
ascent,  and  apparently  going  in  much  the  same  general  direction. 
A  little  in  advance,  in  the  more  rugged  path,  stood  the  same  fe- 
male form.  Her  face  was  hidden  by  a  branch  of  a  tree,  but  she 
beckoned  to  us.  "  Take  that  path,  Uncle  'Liakim,"  said  I ;  "it 's 
the  right  one." 

"  Lordy  massy,"  said  Sam  Lawson,  "  how  in  the  world  should 
you  know  that?  That  'ere  is  the  shortest  road  to  the  Dench 
house,  and  the  other  leads  away  from  it." 

I  kept  silence  as  to  my  source  of  information,  and  still  watched 
the  figure.  As  we  passed  it,  I  saw  a  beautiful  face  with  a  serene 
and  tender  expression,  and  her  hands  were  raised  as  if  in  bless- 
ing. I  looked  back  earnestly  and  she  was  gone. 

A  few  moments  after,  we  were  in  the  grounds  of  the  place,  and 
struck  into  Avhat  had  formerly  been  the  carriage  way,  though 
now  overgrown  with  weeds,  and  here  and  there  with  a  jungle  of 
what  was  once  well-kept  ornamental  shrubbery.  A  tree  had  been 


THE   VISIT   TO   THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE.  195 

uprooted  by  the  late  tempest,  and  blown  down  across  the  road, 
and  we  had  to  make  quite  a  little  detour  to  avoid  it. 

"  Now  how  are  we  to  get  into  this  house  ?  "  said  Uncle  Eliakim. 
"  No  doubt  it 's  left  fastened  up." 

"  Do  you  see  that  ?  "  said  Sam  Lawson,  who  had  been  gazing 
steadily  upward  at  the  chimneys  of  the  house,  with  his  eyes  shaded 
by  one  of  his  great  hands.  "  Look  at  that  smoke  from  the  mid- 
dle chimbly." 

"  There  's  somebody  in  the  house,  to  be  sure,"  said  Uncle  Elia- 
kim; "suppose  we  knock  at  the  front  door  here?"  —  and  with 
great  briskness,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  lifted  the  black 
serpent  knocker,  and  gave  such  a  rat  tat  tat  as  must  have  roused 
all  the  echoes  of  the  old  house,  while  Sara  Lawson  and  I  stood 
by  him,  expectant,  on  the  front  steps. 

Sam  then  seated  himself  composedly  on  a  sort  of  bench  which 
was  placed  under  the  shadow  of  the  porch,  and  awaited  the  result 
with  the  contentment  of  a  man  of  infinite  leisure.  Uncle  Elia- 
kim, however,  felt  pressed  for  time,  and  therefore  gave  another 
long  and  vehement  rap.  Very  soon  a  chirping  of  childish  voices 
was  heard  behind  the  door,  and  a  pattering  of  feet;  there  ap- 
peared to  be  a  sort  of  consultation. 

"  There  they  be  now,"  said  Sam  Lawson,  "jest  as  I  told  you." 

"  Please  go  round  to  the  back  door,"  said  a  childish  voice ;  "  this 
is  locked,  and  I  can't  open  it." 

We  all  immediately  followed  Sam  Lawson,  who  took  enormous 
strides  over  the  shrubbery,  and  soon  I  saw  the  vision  of  a  curly- 
headed,  blue-eyed  boy  holding  open  the  side  door  of  the  house. 

I  ran  up  to  him.     "  Are  you  Harvey  ?  "  I  said. 

"  No,"  he  answered  ;  "  my  name  is  n't  Harvey,  it 's  Harry ;  and 
this  is  my  sister  Tina,"  —  and  immediately  a  pair  of  dark  eyes 
looked  out  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Well,  we  Ve  come  to  take  you  to  my  grandmother's  house," 
said  I. 

I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  I  always  spoke  of  our  domestic 
establishment  under  the  style  and  title  of  the  female  ruler.  It 
was  grandmother's  house. 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  the  boy,  "  for  we  have  tried  two  or 


196  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

three  times  to  find  our  way  to  Oldtown,  and  got  lost  in  the  woods 
and  had  to  come  back  here  again." 

Here  the  female  partner  in  the  concern  stepped  a  little  for- 
ward, eager  for  her  share  in  the  conversation.  "  Do  you  know 
old  Sol?"  she  said. 

"  Lordy  massy,  I  do,"  said  Sam  Lawson,  quite  delighted  at  this 
verification  of  the  identity  of  the  children.  "  Yes,  I  see  him  only 
day  afore  yesterday,  and  he  was  'quirin'  arter  you,  and  we  thought 
we  'd  find  you  over  in  this  'ere  house,  'cause  I  'd  seen  smoke  a 
comin'  out  o'  the  chimblies.  Had  a  putty  good  time  in  the  old 
house,  I  reckon.  Ben  all  over  it  pretty  much,  hain't  ye  ?  " 

"  0  yes,"  said  Tina ;  "  and  it 's  such  a  strange  old  place,  —  a 
great  big  house  with  ever  so  many  rooms  in  it !  " 

"  Wai,  we  '11  jest  go  over  it,  being  as  we  're  here,"  said  Sam ; 
and  into  it  we  all  went. 

Now  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  that  little  Miss  Tina  took 
more  native  delight  in  than  in  playing  the  hostess.  To  entertain 
was  her  dearest  instinct,  and  she  hastened  with  all  speed  to  open 
before  us  all  in  the  old  mansion  that  her  own  rummaging  and  in- 
vestigating .talents  had  brought  to  light,  chattering  meanwhile 
with  the  spirit  of  a  bobolink. 

"  You  don't  know,"  she  said  to  Sam  Lawson,  "  what  a  curious 
little  closet  there  is  in  here,  with  book-cases  and  drawers,  and  a 
looking-glass  in  the  door,  with  a  curtain  over  it." 

"  Want  to  know  ?  "  said  Sam.  "  Wai,  that  'ere  does  beat  all. 
It 's  some  of  them  old  English  folks's  grander,  I  s'pose." 

"  And  here  's  a  picture  of  such  a  beautiful  lady,  that  always 
looks  at  you,  whichever  way  you  go, — just  see." 

"  Lordy  massy,  so  't  does.  Wai,  now,  them  drawers,  mebbe, 
have  got  curous  things  in  'em,"  suggested  Sam. 

"  O  yes,  but  Harry  never  would  let  me  look  in  them.  I  tried, 
though,  once,  when  Harry  was  gone ;  but,  if  you  '11  believe  me, 
they  're  all  locked." 

"  Want  to  know  ?  "  said  Sam.  "  That  'ere  's  a  kind  o'  pity, 
now." 

"Would  you  open  them?  You  would  n't,  would  you?"  said 
the  little  one,  turning  suddenly  round  and  opening  her  great 


THE   VISIT  TO  THE  HAUNTED   HOUSE.  197 

wide  eyes  full  on  him.  "  Harry  said  the  place  was  n't  ours,  and 
it  would  n't  be  proper." 

"  Wai,  he 's  a  nice  boy ;  quite  right  in  him.  Little  folks 
must  n't  touch  things  that  ain't  theirn,"  said  Sam,  who  was 
strong  on  the  moralities ;  though,  after  all,  when  all  the  rest  had 
left  the  apartment,  I  looked  back  and  saw  him  giving  a  sly  tweak 
to  the  drawers  of  the  cabinet  on  his  own  individual  account. 

"  I  was  just  a  makin'  sure,  you  know,  that  't  was  all  safe,"  he 
said,  as  he  caught  my  eye,  and  saw  that  he  was  discovered. 

Sam  revelled  and  expatiated,  however,  in  the  information  that 
lay  before  him  in  the  exploration  of  the  house.  No  tourist  with 
Murray's  guide-book  in  hand,  and  with  travels  to  prepare  for 
publication,  ever  went  more  patiently  through  the  doing  of  a 
place.  Not  a  door  was  left  closed  that  could  be  opened ;  not  a 
passage  unexplored.  Sam's  head  came  out  dusty  and  cobwebby 
between  the  beams  of  the  ghostly  old  garret,  where  mouldy  rel- 
ics of  antique  furniture  were  reposing,  and  disappeared  into  the 
gloom  of  the  spacious  cellars,  where  the  light  was  as  darkness. 
He  found  none  of  the  marks  of  the  traditional  haunted  room  ; 
but  he  prolonged  the  search  till  there  seemed  a  prospect  that 
poor  Uncle  Eliakim  would  have  to  get  him  away  by  physical 
force,  if  we  meant  to  get  home  in  time  for  supper. 

"  Mr.  Lawson,  you  don't  seem  to  remember  we  have  n't  any 
of  us  had  a  morsel  of  dinner,  and  the  sun  is  actually  going  down. 
The  folks  '11  be  concerned  about  us.  Come,  let 's  take  the  chil- 
dren and  be  off." 

And  so  we  mounted  briskly  into  the  wagon,  and  the  old  horse, 
vividly  impressed  with  the  idea  of  barn  and  hay  at  the  end  of  his 
toils,  seconded  the  vigorous  exertions  of  Uncle  Fly,  and  we  rat- 
tled and  spun  on  our  homeward  career,  and  arrived  at  the  farm- 
house a  little  after  moonrise. 


198  OLDTOWX  FOLKS. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

TINA'S  ADOPTION. 

DURING  the  time  of  our  journey  to  the  enchanted  ground, 
my  Aunt  Lois,  being  a  woman  of  business,  who  always 
knew  precisely  what  she  was  about,  had  contrived  not  only  to 
finish  meritoriously  her  household  tasks,  and  to  supplement  Uncle 
Eliakinvs  forgetful  benevolence,  but  also  to  make  a  call  on  Mi?s 
Mehitable  Rossiter,  for  the  sake  of  unburdening  to  her  her  op- 
pressed heart.  For  Miss  Mehitable  bore  in  our  family  circle  the 
repute  of  being  a  woman  of  counsel  and  sound  wisdom.  The 
savor  of  ministerial  stock  being  yet  strong  about  her,  she  was 
much  resorted  to  for  advice  in  difficult  cases. 

"  I  don't  object,  of  course,  to  doing  for  the  poor  and  orphaned, 
and  all  that,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  quite  sensibly ;  "  but  I  like  to  see 
folks  seem  to  know  what  they  are  doing,  and  where  they  are  go- 
ing, and  not  pitch  and  tumble  into  things  without  asking  what 's 
to  come  of  them.  Now,  we  'd  just  got  Susy  and  the  two  boys 
on  our  hands,  and  here  will  come  along  a  couple  more  children 
to-night;  and  I  must  say  I  don't  see  what's  to  be  done  with 
them." 

"  It 's  a  pity  you  don't  take  snuff,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  with 
a  whimsical  grimace.  u  Now,  when  I  come  to  any  of  the  cross- 
places  of  life,  where  the  road  is  n't  very  clear,  I  just  take  a  pinch 
of  snuff  and  wait ;  but  as  you  don't,  just  stay  and  get  a  cup  of 
tea  with  me,  in  a  quiet,  Christian  way,  and  after  it  we  will  walk 
round  to  your  mother's  and  look  at  these  children." 

Aunt  Lois  was  soothed  in  her  perturbed  spirit  by  this  propo- 
sition ;  and  it  was  owing  to  this  that,  when  we  arrived  at  home, 
long  after  dark,  we  found  Miss  Mehitable  in  the  circle  around 
the  blazing  kitchen  fire.  The  table  was  still  standing,  with  am- 
ple preparations  for  an  evening  meal,  —  a  hot  smoking  loaf  of 
rye-and-Indian  bread,  and  a  great  platter  of  cold  boiled  beef  and 


TINA'S  ADOPTION.  199 

pork,  garnished  with  cold  potatoes  and  turnips,  the  sight  of 
which,  to  a  party  who  had  had  no  dinner  all  day,  was  most  ap- 
petizing. 

My  grandmother's  reception  of  the  children  was  as  motherly 
as  if  they  had  been  of  her  own  blood.  In  fact,  their  beauty  and 
evident  gentle  breeding  won  for  them  immediate  favor  in  all 
eyes. 

The  whole  party  sat  down  to  the  table,  and,  after  a  long  and 
somewhat  scattering  grace,  pronounced  by  Uncle  Eliakim,  fell 
to  with  a  most  amazing  appearance  of  enjoyment.  Sam's  face 
waxed  luminous  as  he  buttered  great  blocks  of  smoking  brown 
bread  with  the  fruits  of  my  grandmother's  morning  churning,  and 
refreshed  himself  by  long  and  hearty  pulls  at  the  cider-mug. 

'•  I  tell  you,'  he  said,  " when  folks  hes  been  a  ridin'  on  an 
empty  stomach  ever  since  breakfast,  victuals  is  victuals  ;  we 
learn  how  to  be  thankful  for  'em ;  so  I  '11  take  another  slice  o' 
that  'ere  beef,  and  one  or  two  more  cold  potatoes,  and  the  vine- 
gar, Mr.  Sheril.  Wai,  chillen,  this  ere  's  better  than  bein'  alone 
in  that  'ere  old  house,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Ye=,  indeed,"  piped  Tina ;  '•  I  had  begun  to  be  quite  discour- 
aged. We  tried  and  tried  to  find  our  way  to  Oldtown,  and  al- 
ways got  lost  in  the  woods."  Seeing  that  this  remark  elicited 
sympathy  in  the  listeners,  she  added,  "  I  was  afraid  we  should 
die  there,  and  the  robins  would  have  to  cover  us  up,  like  some 
children  papa  used  to  tell  about." 

"Poor  babes!  just  hear  'em,"  said  my  grandmother,  who 
seemed  scarcely  able  to  restrain  herself  from  falling  on  the 
necks  of  the  children,  in  the  ardor  of  her  motherly  kindness, 
while  she  doubled  up  an  imaginary  fist  at  Miss  Asphyxia  Smith, 
and  longed  to  give  her  a  piece  of  her  mind  touching  her  treat- 
ment of  them. 

Harry  remained  modestly  silent ;  but  he  and  I  sat  together,  and 
our  eyes  met  every  now  and  then  with  that  quiet  amity  to  which 
I  had  been  accustomed  in  ray  spiritual  friend.  I  felt  a  cleaving 
of  spirit  to  him  that  I  had  never  felt  towards  any  human  being 
before,  —  a  certainty  that  something  had  come  to  me  in  him  that 
I  had  always  been  wanting,  —  and  I  was  too  glad  for  speech. 


200  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

He  was  one  of  those  children  who  retreat  into  themselves  and 
make  a  shield  of  quietness  and  silence  in  the  presence  of  many 
people,  while  Tina,  on  the  other  hand,  was  electrically  excited, 
waxed  brilliant  in  color,  and  rattled  and  chattered  with  as  fearless 
confidence  as  a  cat-bird. 

"  Come  hither  to  me,  little  maiden,"  said  Miss  Mehi table,  with 
a  whimsical  air  of  authority,  when  the  child  had  done  her  supper. 
Tina  came  to  her  knee,  and  looked  up  into  the  dusky,  homely 
face,  in  that  still,  earnest  fashion  in  which  children  seem  to  study 
older  people. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like  me  ?  "  said  Miss  Mehitable,  when  this 
silent  survey  had  lasted  an  appreciable  time. 

The  child  still  considered  attentively,  looking  long  into  the 
great,  honest,  open  eyes,  and  then  her  face  suddenly  rippled  and 
dimpled  all  over  like  a  brook  when  a  sunbeam  strikes  it.  "  I  do 
like  you.  I  think  you  are  good,"  she  said,  putting  out  her  hands 
impulsively. 

"  Then  up  you  come,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  lifting  her  into  her 
lap.  "  It 's  well  you  like  me,  because,  for  aught  you  know,  I  may 
be  an  old  fairy  ;  and  if  I  did  n't  like  you,  I  might  turn  you  into  a 
mouse  or  a  cricket.  Now  how  would  you  like  that  ?  " 

"  You  could  n't  do  it,"  said  Tina,  laughing. 

"  How  do  you  know  I  could  n't  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  you  did  turn  me  into  a  mouse,  I  'd  gnaw  your  knit- 
ting-work," said  Tina,  laying  hold  of  Miss  Mehitable's  knitting. 
"  You  'd  be  glad  to  turn  me  back  again." 

"  Heyday  !  I  must  take  care  how  I  make  a  mouse  of  you,  I 
see.  Perhaps  I  '11  make  you  into  a  kitten." 

"  Well,  I  'd  like  to  be  a  kitten,  if  you  '11  keep  a  ball  for  me  to 
play  with,  and  give  me  plenty  of  milk,"  said  Tina,  to  whom  no 
proposition  seemed  to  be  without  possible  advantages. 

"  Will  you  go  home  and  live  with  me,  and  be  my  kitten  ?  " 

Tina  had  often  heard  her  brother  speak  of  finding  a  good  wo- 
man who  should  take  care  of  her ;  and  her  face  immediately  be- 
came grave  at  this  proposal.  She  seemed  to  study  Miss  Mehit- 
able in  a  new  way.  "  Where  do  you  live  ?  w  she  said. 

"  0,  my  house  is  only  a  little  way  from  here." 


TINA'S   ADOPTION.  201 

"  And  may  Harry  come  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly  he  may." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  work  for  you  all  the  time  ?  "  said  Tina  5 
"  because,"  she  added,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  like  to  play  sometimes, 
and  Miss  Asphyxia  said  that  was  wicked." 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  I  wanted  you  for  my  little  white  kitten," 
said  Miss  Mehitable,  with  an  odd  twinkle.  "  What  work  do  you 
suppose  kittens  do  ?  " 

"  Must  I  grow  up  and  catch  rats  ?  "  said  the  child. 

"  Certainly  you  will  be  likely  to,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  sol- 
emnly. "  I  shall  pity  the  poor  rats  when  you  are  grown  up." 

Tina  looked  in  the  humorous,  twinkling  old  face  with  a  gleam 
of  mischievous  comprehension,  and,  throwing  her  arms  around 
Miss  Mehitable,  said,  "Yes,  I  like  you,  and  I  will  be  your 
kitten." 

There  was  a  sudden,  almost  convulsive  pressure  of  the  little 
one  to  the  kind  old  breast,  and  Miss  Mehitable's  face  wore  a 
strange  expression,  that  looked  like  the  smothered  pang  of  some 
great  anguish  blended  with  a  peculiar  tenderness.  One  versed 
in  the  reading  of  spiritual  histories  might  have  seen  that,  at  that 
moment,  some  inner  door  of  that  old  heart  opened,  not  without  a 
grating  of  pain',  to  give  a  refuge  to  the  little  orphan ;  but  opened 
it  was,  and  a  silent  inner  act  of  adoption  had  gone  forth.  Miss 
Mehitable  beckoned  my  grandmother  and  Aunt  Lois  into  a  cor- 
ner of  the  fireplace  by  themselves,  while  Sam  Lawson  was  en- 
tertaining the  rest  of  the  circle  by  reciting  the  narrative  of  our 
day's  explorations. 

"  Now  I  suppose  I  'm  about  as  fit  to  undertake  to  bring  up  a 
child  as  the  old  Dragon  of  Wantley,"  said  Miss  Mehitable  ;  "  but 
as  you  seem  to  have  a  surplus  on  your  hands,  I  'm  willing  to  take 
the  girl  and  do  what  I  can  for  her." 

"  Dear  Miss  Mehitable,  what  a  mercy  it  '11  be  to  her ! "  said  my 
grandmother  and  Aunt  Lois,  simultaneously ;  —  "if  you  feel  that 
you  can  afford  it,"  added  Aunt  Lois,  considerately. 

"  Well,  the  fowls  of  the  air  and  the  lilies  of  the  field  are  taken 
care  of  somehow,  as  we  are  informed,"  said  Miss  Mehitable.  "  My 
basket  and  store  are  not  much  to  ask  a  blessing  on,  but  I  have  a 
9* 


202  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

sort  of  impression  that  an  orphan  child  will  make  it  none  the  less 
likely  to  hold  out." 

"  There  '11  always  be  a  handful  of  meal  in  the  barrel  and  a 
little  oil  in  the  cruse  for  you,  I  'm  sure,"  said  my  grandmother ; 
"  the  word  of  the  Lord  stands  sure  for  that." 

A  sad  shadow  fell  over  Miss  Mehitable's  face  at  these  words, 
and  then  the  usual  expression  of  quaint  humor  stole  over  it. 
"  It 's  to  be  hoped  that  Polly  will  take  the  same  view  of  the 
subject  that  you  appear  to,"  said  she.  "  My  authority  over  Polly 
is,  you  know,  of  an  extremely  nominal  kind." 

"  Still,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  you  must  be  mistress  in  your 
own  house.  Polly,  I  am  sure,  knows  her  duty  to  you." 

"  Polly's  idea  of  allegiance  is  very  much  like  that  of  the  old 
Spanish  nobles  to  their  king ;  it  used  to  run  somewhat  thus : 
*  We,  who  are  every  way  as  good  as  you  are,  promise  obedience 
to  your  government  if  you  maintain  our  rights  and  liberties,  but 
if  not,  not.'  Now  Polly's  ideas  of  'rights  and  liberties'  are  of  a 
very  set  and  particular  nature,  and  I  have  found  her  generally  dis- 
posed to  make  a  good  fight  for  them.  Still,  after  all,"  she  added, 
(i  the  poor  old  thing  loves  me,  and  I  think  will  be  willing  to  indulge 
me  in  having  a  doll,  if  I  really  am  set  upon  it.  The  only  way 
I  can  carry  my  point  with  Polly  is,  to  come  down  on  her  with 
a  perfect  avalanche  of  certainty,  and  so  I  have  passed  my  word 
to  you  that  I  will  be  responsible  for  this  child.  Polly  may  scold 
and  fret  for  a  fortnight ;  but  she  is  too  good  a  Puritan  to  ques- 
tion whether  people  shall  keep  their  promises.  Polly  abhors 
covenant-breaking  with  all  her  soul,  and  so  in  the  end  she  will 
have  to  help  mo  through." 

"  It 's  a  pretty  child,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  and  an  engaging 
one,  and  Polly  may  come  to  liking  her." 

u  There  's  no  saying,"  said  Miss  Mehitable.  "  You  never  know 
what  you  may  find  in  the  odd  corners  of  an  old  maid's  heart,  when 
you  fairly  look  into  them.  There  are  often  unused  hoards  of  ma- 
ternal affection  enough  to  set  up  an  orphan-asylum ;  but  it 's  like 
iron  filings  and  a  magnet,  —  you  must  try  them  with  a  live  child, 
and  if  there  is  anything  in  'em  you  find  it  out.  That  little 
object,"  she  said,  looking  over  her  shoulder  at  Tina,  "  made  an 


TINA'S  ADOPTION.  203 

instant  commotion  in  the  dust  and  rubbish  of  my  forlorn  old 
garret,  and  brought  to  light  a  deal  that  I  thought  had  gone  to  the 
moles  and  the  bats  long  ago.  She  will  do  me  good,  I  can  feel, 
with  her  little  pertnesses  and  her  airs  and  fancies.  If  you  could 
know  how  chilly  and  lonesome  an  old  house  gets  sometimes,  par- 
ticularly in  autumn,  when  the  equinoctial  storm  is  brewing  !  A 
lively  child  is  a  godsend,  even  if  she  turns  the  whole  house 
topsy-turvy." 

"  Well,  a  child  can't  always  be  a  plaything,"  said  Aunt  Lois  ; 
"  it 's  a  solemn  and  awful  responsibility." 

"And  if  I  don't  take  it,  who  will?"  said  Miss  Mehitable, 
gravely.  "  If  a  better  one  would,  I  would  n't.  I  've  no  great 
confidence  in  myself.  I  profess  no  skill  in  human  cobbling.  I 
can  only  give  house-room  and  shelter  and  love,  and  let  come  what 
will  come.  '  A  man  cannot  escape  what  is  written  on  his  fore- 
head,' the  Turkish  proverb  says,  and  this  poor  child's  history  is 
all  forewritten." 

"  The  Lord  will  bless  you  for  your  goodness  to  the  orphan," 
said  my  grandmother. 

"  I  don't  know  about  its  being  goodness.  I  take  a  fancy  to 
her.  I  hunger  for  the  child.  There  's  no  merit  in  wanting  your 
bit  of  cake,  and  maybe  taking  it  when  it  is  n't  good  for  you ; 
but  let 's  hope  all 's  well  that  ends  well.  Since  I  have  fairly 
claimed  her  for  mine,  I  begin  to  feel  a  fierce  right  of  property  in 
her,  and  you  'd  see  me  fighting  like  an  old  hen  with  anybody  that 
should  try  to  get  her  away  from  me.  You  '11  see  me  made  an 
old  fool  of  by  her  smart  little  ways  and  speeches ;  and  I  already 
am  proud  of  her  beauty.  Did  you  ever  see  a  brighter  little 
minx?" 

We  looked  across  to  the  other  end  of  the  fireplace,  where  Miss 
Tina  sat  perched,  with  great  contentment,  on  Sam  Lawson's  knee, 
listening  with  wide-open  eyes  to  the  accounts  he  was  giving  of 
the  haunted  house.  The  beautiful  hair  that  Miss  Asphyxia  had 
cut  so  close  had  grown  with  each  day,  till  now  it  stood  up  in  half 
rings  of  reddish  gold,  through  which  the  fire  shone  with  a 
dancing  light ;  and  her  great  eyes  seemed  to  radiate  brightness 
from  as  many  points  as  a  diamond. 


204  OLDTOWN   FOLKS 

"  Depend  upon  it,  those  children  are  of  good  blood,"  said  Miss 
Mehitable,  decisively.  "  You  '11  never  make  me  believe  that 
they  will  not  be  found  to  belong  in  some  way  to  some  reputable 
stock." 

"Well,  we  know  nothing  about  their  parents,"  said  my  grand- 
mother, "  except  what  we  heard  second-hand  through  Sam  Law- 
son.  It  was  a  wandering  woman,  sick  and  a  stranger,  who  was 
taken  down  and  died  in  Old  Crab  Smith's  house,  over  in  Need- 
more." 

"  One  can  tell,  by  the  child's  manner  of  speaking,  that  she  has 
been  brought  up  among  educated  people,"  said  Miss  Mehitable. 
"  She  is  no  little  rustic.  The  boy,  too,  looks  of  the  fine  clay  of 
the  earth.  But  it  '&  time  for  me  to  take  little  Miss  Rattlebrain 
home  with  me,  and  get  her  into  bed.  Sleep  K  a  gracious  state  for 
children,  and  the  first  step  in  my  new  duties  is  a  plain  one."  So 
saying,  Miss  Mehitable  rose,  and,  stepping  over  to  the  other  side 
of  the  fireplace,  tapped  Tina  lightly  on  the  shoulder.  "  Come, 
Pussy,"  she  said,  "  get  your  bonnet,  and  we  will  go  home." 

Harry,  who  had  watched  all  the  movements  between  Miss 
Mehitable  and  his  sister  with  intense  interest,  now  stepped  for- 
ward, blushing  very  much,  but  still  with  a  quaint  little  old-fash- 
ioned air  of  manliness.  "  Is  my  sister  going  to  live  with 
you?" 

"  So  we  have  agreed,  my  little  man,"  said  Miss  Mehitable.  "  I 
hope  you  have  no  objection?" 

"  Will  you  let  me  come  and  see  her  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  you  will  always  be  quite  welcome." 

"  I  want  to  see  her  sometimes,  because  my  mother  left  her 
under  my  care.  I  sha'  n't  have  a  great  deal  of  time  to  come  in 
the  daytime,  because  I  must  work  for  my  living,"  he  said,  "  but 
a  little  while  sometimes  at  night,  if  you  would  let  me." 

"  And  what  do  you  work  at  ?  "  said  Miss  Mehitable,  surveying 
the  delicate  boy  with  an  air  of  some  amusement. 

"I  used  to  pick  up  potatoes,  and  fodder  the  cattle,  and  do  a 
great  many  things ;  and  I  am  growing  stronger  every  day,  and 
by  and  by  can  do  a  great  deal  more." 

"  Well  said,  sonny,"  said  my  grandfather,  laying  his  hand  on 


TINA'S  ADOPTION.  205 

Harry's  head.  "  You  speak  like  a  smart  boy.  We  can  have  you 
down  to  help  tend  sawmill." 

"  I  wonder  how  many  more  boys  will  be  wanted  to  help  tend 
sawmill,  "  said  Aunt  Lois. 

"  Well,  good  night,  all,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  starting  to  go 
home. 

Tina,  however,  stopped  and  left  her  side,  and  threw  her  arms 
round  Harry's  neck  and  kissed  him.  "  Good  night  now.  You  '11 
come  and  see  me  to-morrow,"  she  said. 

"  May  I  come  too  ?  "  I  said,  almost  before  I  thought. 

"  O,  certainly,  do  come,"  said  Tina,  with  that  warm,  earnest 
light  in  her  eyes  which  seemed  the  very  soul  of  hospitality. 
"  She  '11  like  to  have  you,  I  know." 

"  The  child  is  taking  possession  of  the  situation  at  once,"  said 
Miss  Mehitable.  "  Well,  Brighteyes,  you  may  come  too,"  she 
added,  to  me.  "  A  precious  row  there  will  be  among  the  old 
books  when  you  all  get  together  there  "  ;  —  and  Miss  Mehitable, 
with  the  gay,  tripping  figure  by  her  side,  left  the  room. 

"  Is  this  great,  big,  dark  house  yours  ?  "  said  the  child,  as  they 
came  under  the  shadow  of  a  dense  thicket  of  syringas  and  lilacs 
that  overhung  the  front  of  the  house. 

"  Yes,  this  is  Doubting  Castle,"  said  Miss  Mehitable. 

"  And  does  Giant  Despair  live  here  ?  "  said  Tina.  "  Mamma 
showed  me  a  picture  of  him  once  in  a  book." 

"  Well,  he  has  tried  many  times  to  take  possession,"  said  Miss 
Mehitable,  "  but  I  do  what  I  can  to  keep  him  out,  and  you  must 
help  me." 

Saying  this  she  opened  the  door  of  a  large,  old-fashioned  room, 
that  appeared  to  have  served  both  the  purposes  of  a  study  and 
parlor.  It  was  revealed  to  view  by  the  dusky,  uncertain  glim- 
mer of  a  wood  fire  that  had  burned  almost  down  on  a  pair  of  tall 
brass  andirons.  The  sides  of  the  room  were  filled  to  the  ceiling 
with  book-cases  full  of  books.  Some  dark  portraits  of  men  and 
women  were  duskily  revealed  by  the  flickering  light,  as  well  as  a 
wide,  ample-bosomed  chintz  sofa  and  a  great  chintz-covered  easy- 
chair.  A  table  draped  with  a  green  cloth  stood  in  a  corner  by  the 
fire,  strewn  over  with  books  and  writing-materials,  and  sustaining 
a  large  work-basket. 


206  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

"  How  dark  it  is  ! "  said  the  child. 

Miss  Mehitable  took  a  burning  splinter  of  the  wood,  and  lighted 
a  candle  in  a  tall,  plated  candlestick,  that  stood  on  the  high,  nar- 
row mantel-piece  over  the  fireplace.  At  this  moment  a  side  door 
opened,  and  a  large-boned  woman,  dressed  in  a  homespun  stuff 
petticoat,  with  a  short,  loose  sack  of  the  same  material,  appeared 
at  the  door.  Her  face  was  freckled ;  her  hair,  of  a  carroty-yellow, 
was  plastered  closely  to  her  head  and  secured  by  a  horn  comb ; 
her  eyes  were  so  sharp  and  searching,  that,  as  she  fixed  them  on 
Tina,  she  blinked  involuntarily.  Around  her  neck  she  wore  a 
large  string  of  gold  beads,  the  brilliant  gleam  of  which,  catching 
the  firelight,  revealed  itself  at  once  to  Tina's  eye,  and  caused  her 
to  regard  the  woman  with  curiosity. 

She  appeared  to  have  opened  the  door  with  an  intention  of 
asking  a  question ;  but  stopped  and  surveyed  the  child  with  a 
sharp  expression  of  not  very  well-pleased  astonishment.  "I 
thought  you  spoke  to  me,"  she  said,  at  last,  to  Miss  Mehitable. 

"  You  may  warm  my  bed  now,  Polly,"  said  Miss  Mehitable ; 
"  I  shall  be  ready  to  go  up  in  a  few  moments." 

Polly  stood  a  moment  more,  as  if  awaiting  some  communica- 
tion about  the  child ;  but  as  Miss  Mehitable  turned  away,  and  ap- 
peared to  be  busying  herself  about  the  fire,  Polly  gave  a  sudden 
windy  dart  from  the  room,  and  closed  the  door  with  a  bang  that 
made  the  window-casings  rattle. 

"  Why,  what  did  she  do  that  for  ?  "  said  Tina. 

"  0,  it 's  Polly's  way ;  she  does  everything  with  all  her  might," 
said  Miss  Mehitable. 

"  Don't  she  like  me  ?  "  said  the  child. 

"  Probably  not.  She  knows  nothing  about  you,  and  she  does 
not  like  new  things." 

"  But  won't  she  ever  like  me  ?  "  persisted  Tina. 

"  That,  my  dear,  will  depend  in  a  great  degree  on  yourself.  If 
she  sees  that  you  are  good  and  behave  well,  she  will  probably 
end  by  liking  you ;  but  old  people  like  her  are  afraid  that  chil- 
dren will  meddle  with  their  things,  and  get  them  out  of  place." 

"  I  mean  to  be  good,"  said  Tina,  resolutely.  "  When  I  lived 
with  Miss  Asphyxia,  I  wanted  to  be  bad,  I  tried  to  be  bad ;  but 


TINA'S  ADOPTION.  207 

now  I  am  changed.  I  mean  to  be  good,  because  you  are  good  to 
me,"  and  the  child  laid  her  head  confidingly  in  Miss  Mehitable's 
lap. 

The  dearest  of  all  flattery  to  the  old  and  uncomely  is  this  ca- 
ressing, confiding  love  of  childhood,  and  Miss  Meliitable  felt  a 
glow  of  pleasure  about  her  dusky  old  heart  at  which  she  really 
wondered.  "  Can  anything  so  fair  really  love  me  ?"  she  asked 
herself.  Alas  !  how  much  of  this  cheap-bought  happiness  goes  to 
waste  daily !  While  unclaimed  children  grow  up  loveless,  men 
and  women  wither  in  lonely,  craving  solitude. 

Polly  again  appeared  at  the  door.  "Your  bed  's  all  warm,  and 
you  'd  better  go  right  up,  else  what 's  the  use  of  warming  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  '11  come  immediately,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  endeavor- 
ing steadfastly  to  look  as  if  she  did  not  see  Polly's  looks,  and  to 
act  as  if  there  had  of  course  always  been  a  little  girl  to  sleep 
with  her. 

"Come,  my  little  one."  My  little  one!  Miss  Mehitable's 
heart  gave  a  great  throb  at  this  possessive  pronoun.  It  all  seemed 
as  strange  to  her  as  a  dream.  A  few  hours  ago,  and  she  sat  in 
the  old  windy,  lonesome  house,  alone  with  the  memories  of  dead 
friends,  and  feeling  herself  walking  to  the  grave  in  a  dismal  soli- 
tude. Suddenly  she  awoke  as  from  a  dark  dream,  and  found 
herself  sole  possessor  of  beauty,  youth,  and  love,  in  a  glowing 
little  form,  all  her  own,  with  no  mortal  to  dispute  it.  She  had 
a  mother's  right  in  a  child.  She  might  have  a  daughter's  love. 
The  whole  house  seemed  changed.  The  dreary,  lonesome  great 
hall,  with  its  tall,  solemn-ticking  clock,  the  wide,  echoing  stair- 
case, up  which  Miss  Mehitable  had  crept,  shivering  and  alone,  so 
many  sad  nights,  now  gave  back  the  chirpings  of  Tina's  rattling 
gayety  and  the  silvery  echoes  of  her  laugh,  as,  happy  in  her  new 
lot,  she  danced  up  the  stairway,  stopping  to  ask  eager  questions 
on  this  and  that,  as  anything  struck  her  fancy.  For  Miss  Tina 
had  one  of  those  buoyant,  believing  natures,  born  to  ride  always 
on  the  very  top^  crest  of  every  wave,  —  one  fully  disposed  to  ac- 
cept of  good  fortune  in  all  its  length  and  breadth,  and  to  make 
the  most  of  it  at  once. 

"  This  is  our  home,"  she  said,  "  is  n't  it  ?  J 


208  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

"  Yes,  darling,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  catching  her  in  her 
arms  fondly;  "it  is  our  home;  we  will  have  good  times  here 
together." 

Tina  threw  her  arms  around  Miss  Mehitable's  neck  and  kissed 
her.  "  I  'm  so  glad !  Harry  said  that  God  would  find  us  a 
home  as  soon  as  it  was  best,  and  now  here  it  comes." 

Miss  Mehitable  set  the  child  down  by  the  side  of  a  great  dark 
wooden  bedstead,  with  tall,  carved  posts,  draped  with  curious  cur- 
tains of  India  linen,  where  strange  Oriental  plants  and  birds,  and 
quaint  pagodas  and  figures  in  turbans,  were  all  mingled  together, 
like  the  phantasms  in  a  dream.  Then  going  to  a  tall  chest  of 
drawers,  resplendent  with  many  brass  handles,  which  reached 
almost  to  the  ceiling,  she  took  a  bunch  of  keys  from  her  pocket 
and  unlocked  a  drawer.  A  spasm  as  of  pain  passed  over  her 
face  as  she  opened  it,  and  her  hands  trembled  with  some  sup- 
pressed emotion  as  she  took  up  and  laid  down  various  articles, 
searching  for  something.  At  last  she  found  what  she  wanted, 
and  shook  it  out.  It  was  a  child's  nightgown,  of  just  the  size 
needed  by  Tina.  It  was  yellow  with  age,  but  made  with  dainty 
care.  She  sat  down  by  the  child  and  began  a  movement  towards 
undressing  her. 

"  Shall  I  say  my  prayers  to  you,"  said  Tina,  "  before  I  go  to 
bed  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Miss  Mehitable  ;  "  by  all  means." 

"  They  are  rather  long,"  said  the  child,  apologetically,  —  "  that 
is,  if  I  say  all  that  Harry  does.  Harry  said  mamma  wanted  us 
to  say  them  all  every  night.  It  takes  some  time." 

"  O,  by  all  means  say  all,"  said  Miss  Mehitable. 

Tina  kneeled  down  by  her  and  put  her  hands  in  hers,  and 
said  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  the  psalm,  "  The  Lord  is  my  shep- 
herd." She  had  a  natural  turn  for  elocution,  this  little  one,  and 
spoke  her  words  with  a  grace  and  an  apparent  understanding 
not  ordinary  in  childhood. 

"  There  's  a  hymn,  besides,"  she  said.  "  It  belongs  to  tho 
prayer." 

"  Well,  let  us  have  that,"  said  Miss  Mehitable. 

Tina  repeated,  — 


TINA'S  ADOPTION.  209 

"  One  there  is  above  all  others 

Well  deserves  the  name  of  Friend ; 
His  is  love  beyond  a  brother's, 
Costly,  free,  and  knows  no  end." 

She  had  an  earnest,  half-heroic  way  of  repeating,  and  as  she 
gazed  into  her  listener's  eyes  she  perceived,  by  a  subtile  instinct, 
that  what  she  was  saying  affected  her  deeply.  She  stopped, 
wondering. 

"  Go  on,  my  love,"  said  Miss  Mehitable. 

Tina  continued,  with  enthusiasm,  feeling  that  she  was  making 
an  impression  on  her  auditor :  — 

"  Which  of  all  our  friends,  to  save  us, 

Could  or  would  have  shed  his  blood  ? 
But  the  Saviour  died  to  have  us 
Reconciled  in  him  to  God. 

"  When  he  lived  on  earth  abase'd, 

Friend  of  sinners  was  his  name ; 
Now,  above  all  glory  raised, 
He  rejoiceth  in  the  same." 

"  O  my  child,  where  did  you  learn  that  hymn  ?  "  said  Miss 
Mehitable,  to  whom  the  words  were  new.  Simple  and  homely 
as  they  were,  they  had  struck  on  some  inner  nerve,  which  was 
vibrating  with  intense  feeling.  Tears  were  standing  in  her  eyes. 

"  It  was  mamma's  hymn,"  said  Tina.  "  She  always  used  to 
say  it.  There  is  one  more  verse,"  she  added. 

"  0  for  grace  our  hearts  to  soften ! 

Teach  us,  Lord,  at  length  to  love ; 
We,  alas !  forget  too  often 
What  a  Friend  we  have  above." 

"  Is  that  the  secret  of  all  earthly  sorrow,  then  ?  "  said  Miss 
Mehitable  aloud,  in  involuntary  soliloquy.  The  sound  of  her 
own  voice  seemed  to  startle  her.  She  sighed  deeply,  and  kissed 
the  child.  "  Thank  you,  my  darling.  It  does  me  good  to  hear 
you,"  she  said. 

The  child  had  entered  so  earnestly,  so  passionately  even,  into 
the  spirit  of  the  words  she  had  been  repeating,  that  she  seemed 
to  Miss  Mehitable  to  be  transfigured  into  an  angel  messenger, 
sent  to  inspire  faith  in  God's  love  in  a  darkened,  despairing  soul 

v 


210  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

She  put  her  into  bed ;  but  Tina  immediately  asserted  her  claim 
to  an  earthly  nature  by  stretching  herself  exultingly  in  the  warm 
bed,  with  an  exclamation  of  vivid  pleasure. 

"  How  different  this  seems  from  my  cold  old  bed  at  Miss  As- 
phyxia's ! "  she  said.  "  0,  that  horrid  woman !  how  I  hate  her ! " 
she  added,  with  a  scowl  and  a  frown,  which  made  the  angelhood 
of  the  child  more  than  questionable. 

Miss  Mehitable's  vision  melted.  It  was  not  a  child  of  heaven, 
but  a  little  mortal  sinner,  that  she  was  tucking  up  for  the  night ; 
and  she  felt  constrained  to  essay  her  first  effort  at  moral  training. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  did  you  not  say,  to-night,  '  Forgive  us 
our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive  those  who  trespass  against  us '  ? 
Do  you  know  what  that  means?" 

"  O  yes,"  said  Tina,  readily. 

"  Well,  if  your  Heavenly  Father  should  forgive  your  sins  just 
as  you  forgive  Miss  Asphyxia,  how  would  you  like  that  ?  " 

There  was  a  silence.  The  large  bright  eyes  grew  round  and 
reflective,  as  they  peered  out  from  between  the  sheets  and  the 
pillow.  At  last  she  said,  in  a  modified  voice :  "  Well,  I  won't 
hate  her  any  more.  But,"  she  added,  with  increased  vivacity, 
"  I  may  think  she  's  hateful,  may  n't  I  ?  " 

Is  there  ever  a  hard  question  in  morals  that  children  do  not 
drive  straight  at,  in  their  wide-eyed  questioning  ? 

Miss  Mehitable  felt  inclined  to  laugh,  but  said,  gravely :  "  I 
would  n't  advise  you  to  think  evil  about  her.  Perhaps  she  is  a 
poor  woman  that  never  had  any  one  to  love  her,  or  anything  to 
love,  and  it  has  made  her  hard." 

Tina  looked  at  Miss  Mehitable  earnestly,  as  if  she  were  pon- 
dering the  remark.  "She  told  me  that  she  was  put  to  work 
younger  than  I  was,"  she  said,  "  and  kept  at  it  all  the  time." 

"  And  perhaps,  if  you  had  been  kept  at  work  all  your  life  in 
that  hard  way,  you  would  have  grown  up  to  be  just  like  her." 

"Well,  then,  I'm  sorry  for  her,"  said  Tina.  "There's  no- 
body loves  her,  that'  s  a  fact.  Nobody  can  love  her,  unless  it 's 
God.  He  loves  every  one,  Harry  says." 

"  Well,  good  night,  my  darling,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  kissing 
her.  "  I  shall  come  to  bed  pretty  soon.  I  will  leave  you  a  can- 
dle," she  added ;  "  because  this  is  a  strange  place." 


TINA'S   ADOPTION.  211 

"  How  good  you  are !  "  said  TiDa.  "  I  used  to  be  so  afraid  in 
the  dark,  at  Miss  Asphyxia's ;  and  I  was  so  wicked  all  day,  that 
I  was  afraid  of  God  too,  at  night.  I  used  sometimes  to  think  I 
heard  something  chewing  under  my  bed ;  and  I  thought  it  was  a 
wolf,  and  would  eat  me  up." 

"Poor  little  darling!"  said  Miss  Mehitable.  "Would  you 
rather  I  sat  by  you  till  you  went  to  sleep  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you  ;  I  don't  like  to  trouble  you,"  said  the  child. 
"  If  you  leave  a  candle  I  sha'  n't  be  afraid.  And,  besides,  I  've 
said  my  prayers  now.  I  did  n't  use  to  say  them  one  bit  at  Miss 
Asphyxia's.  She  would  tell  me  to  say  my  prayers,  and  then 
bang  the  door  so  hard,  and  I  would  feel  cross,  and  think  I 
would  n't.  But  I  am  better  now,  because  you  love  me." 

Miss  Mehitable  returned  to  the  parlor,  and  sat  down  to  pon- 
der over  her  fire;  and  the  result  of  her  ponderings  shall  be 
given  m  a  letter  which  she  immediately  began  writing  at  the 
green-covered  table. 


212  OLDTCNVN  FOLKS. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

MISS  MEHITABLE'S  LETTER,  AND  THE  REPLY,  GIVING  FURTHER 
HINTS  OF  THE  STORY. 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER  :  —  Since  I  wrote  you  last,  so  strange 
a  change  has  taken  place  in  my  life  that  even  now  I 
walk  about  as  in  a  dream,  and  hardly  know  myself.  The  events 
of  a  few  hours  have  made  everything  in  the  world  seem  to  me 
as  different  from  what  it  ever  seemed  before  as  death  is  from 
life. 

Not  to  keep  you  waiting,  after  so  solemn  a  preface,  I  will  an- 
nounce to  you  first,  briefly,  what  it  is,  and  then,  secondly,  how 
it  happened. 

Well,  then,  /  have  adopted  a  child,  in  my  dry  and  wilted  old 
age.  She  is  a  beautiful  and  engaging  little  creature,  full  of  life 
and  spirits,  —  full  of  warm  affections,  —  thrown  an  absolute  waif 
and  stray  on  the  sands  of  life.  Her  mother  was  an  unknown 
Englishwoman,  • —  probably  some  relict  of  the  retired  English 
army.  She  died  in  great  destitution,  in  the  neighboring  town 
of  Needmore,  leaving  on  the  world  two  singularly  interesting 
children,  a  boy  and  a  girl.  They  were,  of  course,  taken  in 
charge  by  the  parish,  and  fell  to  the  lot  of  old  Crab  Smith  and 
his  sister,  Miss  Asphyxia,  — just  think  of  it !  I  think  I  need 
say  no  more  than  this  about  their  lot. 

In  a  short  time  they  ran  away  from  cruel  treatment;  lived 
in  a  desolate  little  housekeeping  way  in  the  old  Dench  house ; 
till  finally  Sam  Lawson,  lounging  about  in  his  general  and  uni- 
versal way,  picked  them  up.  He  brought  them,  of  course,  where 
every  wandering,  distressed  thing  comes,  —  to  Deacon  Badger's. 

Now  I  suppose  the  Deacon  is  comfortably  off  in  the  world,  as 
our  New  England  farmers  go,  but  his  ability  to  maintain  gen- 
eral charges  of  housekeeping  for  all  mankind  may  seriously  be 
doubted.  Lois  Badger,  who  does  the  work  of  Martha  in  that 


MISS  MEHITABLE'S  LETTER.  213 

establishment,  carne  over  to  me,  yesterday  afternoon,  quite  dis- 
tressed in  her  mind  about  it.  Lois  is  a  worthy  creature,  — 
rather  sharp,  to  be  sure,  but,  when  her  edge  is  turned  the  right 
way,  none  the  worse  for  that,  —  and  really  I  thought  she  had 
the  right  of  it,  to  some  extent. 

People  in  general  are  so  resigned  to  have  other  folks  made 
burnt  sacrifices,  that  it  did  not  appear  to  me  probable  that  there 
was  a  creature  in  Oldtown  who  would  do  anything  more  than 
rejoice  that  Deacon  Badger  felt  able  to  take  the  children.  After 
I  had  made  some  rather  bitter  reflections  on  the  world,  and  its 
selfishness,  in  the  style  that  we  all  practise,  the  thought  suddenly 
occurred  to  me,  What  do  you,  more  than  others  ?  and  that  idea, 
together  with  the  beauty  and  charms  of  the  poor  little  waif,  de- 
cided me  to  take  this  bold  step.  I  shut  my  eyes,  and  took  it,  — 
not  without  quaking  in  my  shoes  for  fear  of  Polly ;  but  I  have 
carried  my  point  in  her  very  face,  without  so  much  as  saying 
by  your  leave. 

The  little  one  has  just  been  taken  up  stairs  and  tucked  up 
warmly  in  my  own  bed,  with  one  of  our  poor  little  Emily's  old 
nightgowns  on.  They  fit  her  exactly,  and  I  exult  over  her  as 
one  that  findeth  great  spoil. 

Polly  has  not  yet  declared  herself,  except  by  slamming  the 
door  very  hard  when  she  first  made  the  discovery  of  the  child's 
presence  in  the  house.  I  presume  there  is  an  equinoctial  gale 
gathering,  but  I  say  nothing;  for,  after  all,  Polly  is  a  good 
creature,  and  will  blow  herself  round  into  the  right  quarter,  in 
t'rne,  as  our  northeast  rain-storms  generally  do.  People  always 
accommodate  themselves  to  certainties. 

I  cannot  but  regard  the  coming  of  this  child  to  me  at  this  time 
as  a  messenger  of  mercy  from  God,  to  save  me  from  sinking  into 
utter  despair.  I  have  been  so  lonely,  so  miserable,  so  utterly, 
inexpressibly  wretched  of  late,  that  it  has  seemed  that,  if  some- 
thing did  not  happen  to  help  me,  I  must  lose  my  reason.  Our 
family  disposition  to  melancholy  is  a  hard  enough  thing  to  man- 
age under  the  most  prosperous  circumstances.  I  remember  my 
father's  paroxysms  of  gloom:  they  used  to  frighten  me  when 
I  was  a  little  girl,  and  laid  a  heavy  burden  on  the  heart  of  our 


214  OLDTOYrX  FOLKS. 

dear  angel  mother.  Whatever  that  curse  is,  we  all  inherit  it. 
In  the  heart  of  every  one  of  us  children  there  is  that  fearful 
black  drop,  like  that  which  the  Koran  says  the  angel  showed  to 
Mahomet.  It  is  an  inexplicable  something  which  always  predis- 
poses us  to  sadness,  but  in  which  any  real,  appreciable  sorrow 
strikes  a  terribly  deep  and  long  root.  Shakespeare  describes  this 
thing,  as  he  does  everything  else  :  — 

"  In  sooth,  I  know  not  why  I  am  so  sad: 
It  wearies  me,  —  yon  say  it  wearies  you ; 
But  how  I  caught  it,  found  it,  or  came  by  it, 
What  stuff  't  is  made  of,  whereof  it  is  born, 
I  am  to  learn." 

You  have  struggled  with,  it  by  the  most  rational  means,  —  an 
active  out-of-door  life,  by  sea  voyages  and  severe  manual  labor. 
A  man  can  fight  this  dragon  as  a  woman  cannot.  We  women 
are  helpless,  —  tied  to  places,  forms,  and  rules,  —  chained  to  our 
stake.  We  must  meet  him  as  we  can. 

Of  late  I  have  not  been  able  to  sleep,  and,  lying  awake  all 
night  long  in  darkness  and  misery,  have  asked,  if  this  be  life, 
whether  an  immortal  existence  is  not  a  curse  to  be  feared,  rather 
than  a  blessing  to  be  hoped,  and  if  the  wretchedness  we  fear 
in  the  eternal  world  can  be  worse  than  what  we  sometimes  suffer 
now,  —  such  sinking  of  heart,  such  helplessness  of  fear,  such  a 
vain  calling  for  help  that  never  comes.  Well,  I  will  not  live 
it  over  again,  for  I  dare  say  you  know  it  all  too  well.  I  think 
I  finally  wore  myself  out  in  trying  to  cheer  poor  brother  Theo- 
dore's darksome  way  down  to  death.  Can  you  wronder  that 
he  would  take  opium  ?  God  alone  can  judge  people  that 
suffer  as  he  did,  and,  let  people  say  what  they  please,  I  must, 
I  will,  think  that  God  has  some  pity  for  the  work  of  his  hands. 

Now,  brother,  I  must,  I  will,  write  to  you  about  Emily; 
though  you  have  said  you  never  wished  to  hear  her  name  again. 
What  right  had  you,  her  brother,  to  give  her  up  so,  and  to  let 
the  whole  burden  of  this  dreadful  mystery  and  sorrow  come 
down  on  me  alone?  You  are  not  certain  that  she  has  gone 
astray  in  the  worst  sense  that  a  woman  can.  We  only  know 
that  she  has  broken  away  from  us  and  gone,  —  but  where,  how, 


MISS   MEHITABLE'S   LETTEK.  215 

and  with  whom,  you  cannot  say,  nor  I.  And  certainly  there 
was  great  excuse  for  her.  Consider  how  the  peculiar  tempera- 
ment and  constitution  of  our  family  wrought  upon  her.  Consider 
the  temptations  of  her  wonderful  beauty,  her  highly  nervous, 
wildly  excitable  organization.  Her  genius  was  extraordinary ; 
her  strength  and  vigor  of  character  quite  as  much  so.  Alto- 
gether, she  was  a  perilously  constituted  human  being,  —  and  what 
did  we  do  with  her  ?  A  good,  common  girl  might  have  been  put 
with  Uncle  and  Aunt  Farnsworth  with  great  advantage.  We 
put  her  there  for  the  simple  reason  that  they  were  her  aunt  and 
uncle,  and  had  money  enough  to  educate  her.  But  in  all  other 
respects  they  were  about  the  most  unsuited  that  could  be  con- 
ceived. I  must  say  that  I  think  that  glacial,  gloomy,  religious 
training  in  Uncle  Farnsworth's  family  was,  for  her,  peculiarly 
unfortunate.  She  sat  from  Sunday  to  Sunday  under  Dr.  Stern's 
preaching.  With  a  high-keyed,  acute  mind,  she  could  not  help 
listening  and  thinking ;  and  such  thinking  is  unfortunate,  to  say 
the  least. 

It  always  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  one  of  those  who  experi- 
ment on  the  immortal  soul  as  daring  doctors  experiment  on  the 
body,  —  using  the  most  violent  and  terrible  remedies,  —  remedies 
that  must  kill  or  cure.  His  theory  was,  that  a  secret  enemy  to 
God  was  lying  latent  in  every  soul,  which,  like  some  virulent  poi- 
sons in  the  body,  could  only  be  expelled  by  being  brought  to  the 
surface ;  and  he  had  sermon  after  sermon,  whose  only  object  ap- 
peared to  be  to  bring  into  vivid  consciousness  what  he  calls  the 
natural  opposition  of  the  human  heart. 

But,  alas !  in  some  cases  the  enmity  thus  aroused  can  never 
be  subdued  ;  and  Emily's  was  a  nature  that  would  break  before 
it  would  bow.  Nothing  could  have  subdued  her  but  love,  —  and 
love  she  never  heard.  These  appalling  doctrines  were  presented 
with  such  logical  clearness,  and  apparently  so  established  from 
the  Scriptures,  that,  unable  to  distinguish  between  the  word 
of  God  and  the  cruel  deductions  of  human  logic,  she  trod  both 
under  foot  in  defiant  despair.  Then  came  in  the  French  lit- 
erature, which  is  so  fascinating,  and  which  just  now  is  having 
so  wide  an  influence  on  the  thinking  of  our  country.  Rousseau 


216  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

and  Voltaire  charmed  her,  and  took  her  into  a  new  world.  She 
has  probably  gone  to  France  for  liberty,  with  no  protection  but 
her  own  virgin  nature.  Are  we  at  once  to  infer  the  worst,  when 
we  know  so  little  ?  I,  for  one,  shall  love  her  and  trust  in  her 
to  the  end  ;  and  if  ever  she  should  fall,  and  do  things  that  I  and 
all  the  world  must  condemn,  I  shall  still  say,  that  it  will  be  less 
her  fault  than  that  of  others  ;  that  she  will  be  one  of  those  who 
fall  by  their  higher,  rather  than  their  lower  nature. 

I  have  a  prophetic  instinct  in  my  heart  that  some  day,  poor, 
forlorn,  and  forsaken,  she  will  look  back  with  regret  to  the  old 
house  where  she  was  born :  and  then  she  shall  be  welcome 
here.  This  is  why  I  keep  this  solitary  old  place,  full  of  bitter 
and  ghostly  memories ;  because,  as  long  as  I  keep  it,  there  is 
one  refuge  that  Emily  may  call  her  own,  and  one  heart  that  will 
be  true  to  her,  and  love  her  and  believe  in  her  to  the  end. 

I  think  God  has  been  merciful  to  me  in  sending  me  this  child, 
to  be  to  me  as  a  daughter.  Already  her  coming  has  been  made 
a  means  of  working  in  me  that  great  moral  change  for  which  all 
my  life  I  have  been  blindly  seeking.  I  have  sought  that  con- 
version which  our  father  taught  us  to  expect  as  alchemists  seek 
the  philosopher's  stone. 

What  have  I  not  read  and  suffered  at  the  hands  of  tlie  theolo- 
gians ?  How  many  lonely  hours,  day  after  day,  have  I  bent  the 
knee  in  fruitless  prayer  that  God  would  grant  me  this  great, 
unknown  grace  !  for  without  it  how  dreary  is  life  ! 

We  are  in  ourselves  so  utterly  helpless,  —  life  is  so  hard,  so 
inexplicable,  that  we  stand  in  perishing  need  of  some  helping 
hand,  some  sensible,  appreciable  connection  with  God.  And  yet 
for  years  every  cry  of  misery,  every  breath  of  anguish,  has 
been  choked  by  the  logical  proofs  of  theology  ;  —  that  God  is  my 
enemy,  or  that  I  am  his ;  that  every  effort  I  make  toward  Hini 
but  aggravates  my  offence  ;  and  that  this  unknown  gift,  which  no 
child  of  Adam  ever  did  compass  of  himself,  is  so  completely  in 
my  own  power,  that  I  am  every  minute  of  my  life  to  blame  for 
not  possessing  it. 

How  many  hours  have  I  gone  round  and  round  this  dreary 
track,  —  chilled,  weary,  shivering,  seeing  no  light,  and  hearing 


MISS   MEHITABLE'S   LETTER.  217 

no  voice !  But  within  this  last  hour  it  seems  as  if  a  divine  ray 
had  shone  upon  me,  and  the  great  gift  had  been  given  me  by  the 
hand  of  a  little  child.  It  came  in  the  simplest  and  most  unex- 
pected manner,  while  listening  to  a  very  homely  hymn,  repeated 
by  this  dear  little  one.  The  words  themselves  were  not  much 
in  the  way  of  poetry ;  it  was  merely  the  simplest  statement  of 
the  truth  that  in  Jesus  Christ,  ever  living,  ever  present,  every 
human  soul  has  a  personal  friend,  divine  and  almighty. 

This  thought  came  over  me  with  such  power,  that  it  seemed  as 
if  all  my  doubts,  all  my  intricate,  contradictory  theologies,  all 
those  personal  and  family  sorrows  which  had  made  a  burden  on 
my  soul  greater  than  poor  Christian  ever  staggered  under,  had 
gone  where  his  did,  when,  at  the  sight  of  the  Cross,  it  loosed 
from  his  back  and  rolled  down  into  the  sepulchre,  to  be  seen  no 
more.  Can  it  be,  I  asked  myself,  that  this  mighty  love,  that  I 
feel  so  powerfully  and  so  sweetly,  has  been  near  me  all  these  dark, 
melancholy  years  ?  Has  the  sun  been  shining  behind  all  these 
heavy  clouds,  under  whose  shadows  I  have  spent  my  life  ? 

When  I  laid  my  little  Tina  down  to  sleep  to-night,  I  came 
down  here  to  think  over  this  strange,  new  thought, —  that  I, 
even  I,  in  my  joyless  old  age,  my  poverty,  my  perplexities,  my 
loneliness,  am  no  longer  alone !  I  am  beloved.  There  is  One 
who  does  love  me,  —  the  One  Friend,  whose  love,  like  the  sun- 
shine, can  be  the  portion  of  each  individual  of  the  human  race, 
without  exhaustion.  This  is  the  great  mystery  of  faith,  which 
I  am  determined  from  this  hour  to  keep  whole  and  undented. 

My  dear  brother,  I  have  never  before  addressed  to  you  a  word 
on  this  subject.  It  has  been  one  in  which  I  saw  only  perplexity. 
I  have,  it  is  true,  been  grieved  and  disappointed  that  you  did  not 
see  your  way  clear  to  embrace  the  sacred  ministry,  which  has 
for  so  many  generations  been  the  appointed  work  of  our  family. 
I  confess  for  many  years  I  did  hope  to  see  you  succeed,  not 
only  to  the  library,  but  to  the  work  of  our  honored,  venerated 
father  and  grandfather.  It  was  my  hope  that,  in  this  position,  I 
should  find  in  you  a  spiritual  guide  to  resolve  my  doubts  and  lead 
me  aright.  But  I  have  gathered  from  you  at  times,  by  chance 
words  dropped,  that  you  could  not  exactly  accept  the  faith  of  our 
10 


218  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

fathers.  Perhaps  difficulties  like  my  own  have  withheld  you. 
I  know  you  too  well  to  believe  that  the  French  scepticism  that 
has  blown  over  here  with  the  breath  of  our  political  revolution 
can  have  had  the  least  influence  over  you.  Whatever  your 
views  of  doctrines  may  be,  you  are  not  a  doubter.  You  arc 
not  —  as  poor  Emily  defiantly  called  herself —  a  deist,  an  alien 
from  all  that  our  fathers  came  to  this  wilderness  to  maintain. 
Yet  when  I  see  you  burying  your  talents  in  a  lonely  mountain 
village,  satisfied  with  the  work  of  a  poor  schoolmaster,  instead 
of  standing  forth  to  lead  our  New  England  in  the  pulpit,  I  ask 
myself,  Why  is  this  ? 

Speak  to  me,  brother !  tell  me  your  innermost  thoughts,  as  I 
have  told  you  mine.  Is  not  life  short  and  sad  and  bitter  enough, 
that  those  who  could  help  each  other  should  neglect  the  few 
things  they  can  do  to  make  it  tolerable  ?  Why  do  we  travel 
side  by  side,  lonely  and  silent,  —  each,  perhaps,  hiding  in  that 
silence  the  bread  of  life  that  the  other  needs  ?  Write  to  me  as 
I  have  written  to  you,  and  let  me  know  that  I  have  a  brother 
in  soul,  as  I  have  in  flesh. 

Your  affectionate  sister, 

M.  E 

MY  DEAR  SISTER:  —  I  have  read  your  letter.  Answer  it 
justly  and  truly  how  can  I  ?  How  little  we  know  of  each  other 
in  outside  intimacy !  but  when  we  put  our  key  into  the  door  of 
the  secret  chamber,  who  does  not  tremble  and  draw  back  ?  — 
that  is  the  true  haunted  chamber! 

First,  about  Emily,  I  will  own  I  am  wrong.  It  is  from  no 
want  of  love,  though,  but  from  too  much.  I  was  and  am  too  sore 
and  bitter  on  that  subject  to  trust  myself.  I  have  a  heart  full  of 
curses,  but  don't  know  exactly  where  to  fling  them  ;  and,  for 
aught  I  see,  we  are  utterly  helpless.  Every  clew  fails  ;  and  what 
is  the  use  of  torturing  ourselves  ?  It  is  a  man's  nature  to  act, 
to  do,  and,  where  nothing  can  be  done,  to  forget.  It  is  a  woman's 
nature  to  hold  on  to  what  can  only  torture,  and  live  all  her  despairs 
over.  Women's  tears  are  their  meat ;  men  find  the  diet  too  salt, 
and  won't  take  it. 


MISS   MEHIIABLE'S   LETTER.  219 

Tell  me  anything  I  can  do,  and  I  '11  do  it ;  but  talk  I  cannot,  — 
every  word  burns  me.  I  admit  every  word  you  say  of  Emily. 
We  were  mistaken  in  letting  her  go  to  the  Famsworths,  and  be 
baited  and  tortured  with  ultra-Calvinism ;  but  we  were  blind,  as 
we  mortals  always  are,  —  fated  never  to  see  what  we  should  have 
done,  till  seeing  is  too  late. 

I  am  glad  you  have  taken  that  child,  —  first,  because  it 's  a 
good  deed  in  itself,  and,  secondly,  because  it 's  good  for  you.  That 
it  should  have  shed  light  on  your  relations  to  God  is  strictly  phil- 
osophical. You  have  been  trying  to  find  your  way  to  Him  by 
definitions  and  by  logic ;  one  might  as  well  make  love  to  a  lady 
by  the  first  book  of  Euclid.  "  He  that  loveth  not  his  brother 
whom  he  hath  seen,  how  can  he  love  God  whom  he  hath  not 
seen  ? "  That  throb  of  protecting,  all-embracing  love  which 
thrilled  through  your  heart  for  this  child  taught  you  more  of 
God  than  father's  whole  library.  "  He  that  loveth  not  knoweth 
not  God."  The  old  Bible  is  philosophical,  and  eminent  for  its 
common  sense.  Of  course  this  child  will  make  a  fool  of  you. 
Never  mind  ;  the  follies  of  love  are  remedial. 

As  to  a  system  of  education,  it  will  be  an  amusement  for  you 
to  get  that  up.  Every  human  being  likes  to  undertake  to  dictate 
for  some  other  one.  Go  at  it  with  good  cheer.  But,  whatever 
you  do,  don't  teach  her  French.  Give  her  a  good  Saxon-English 
education  ;  and,  if  she  needs  a  pasture-land  of  foreign  languages, 
let  her  learn  Latin,  and,  more  than  that,  Greek.  Greek  is  the 
morning-land  of  languages,  and  has  the  freshness  of  early  dew 
in  it  which  will  never  exhale. 

The  French  helped  us  in  our  late  war :  for  that  I  thank 
them  ;  but  from  French  philosophy  and  French  democracy,  may 
the  good  Lord  deliver  us.  They  slew  their  Puritans  in  the 
massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  and  the  nation  ever  since  has  been 
without  a  moral  sense.  French  literature  is  like  an  eagle  with 
one  broken  wing.  What  the  Puritans  did  for  us  English  people, 
in  bringing  in  civil  liberty,  they  lacked.  Our  revolutions  have 
been  gradual.  I  predict  that  theirs  will  come  by  and  by  with  an 
explosion. 

Meanwhile,  our  young  men  who  follow  after  French  litera- 


220  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

ture  become  rakes  and  profligates.  Their  first  step  in  liberty  is 
to  repeal  the  ten  commandments,  especially  the  seventh.  There- 
fore I  consider  a  young  woman  in  our  day  misses  nothing  who 
does  not  read  French.  Decorous  French  literature  is  stupid,  and 
bright  French  literature  is  too  wicked  for  anything.  So  let 
French  alone. 

She  threatens  to  be  pretty,  does  she?  So  much  the  worse 
for  you  and  her.  If  she  makes  you  too  much  trouble  by  and  by, 
send  her  up  to  my  academy,  and  I  will  drill  her,  and  make  a 
Spartan  of  her. 

As  to  what  you  say  about  religion,  and  the  ministry,  and  the 
schoolmaster,  what  can  I  say  on  this  sheet  of  paper?  Briefly 
then.  No,  I  am  not  in  any  sense  an  unbeliever  in  the  old  Bible  ; 
I  would  as  soon  disbelieve  my  own  mother.  And  I  am  in  my  na- 
ture a  thorough  Puritan.  I  am  a  Puritan  as  thoroughly  as  a  hound 
is  a  hound,  and  a  pointer  a  pointer,  whose  pedigree  of  unmixed 
blood  can  be  traced  for  generations  back.  I  feel  within  me  the 
preaching  instinct,  just  as  the  hound  snuffs,  and  the  pointer 
points ;  but  as  to  the  pulpit  in  these  days,  —  well,  thereby  hangs 
a  tale. 

What  should  I  preach,  supposing  I  were  a  minister,  as  my 
father,  and  grandfather,  and  great-grandfather  were  before  me  ? 
What  they  preached  was  true  to  them,  was  fitted  for  their 
times,  was  loyally  and  sincerely  said,  and  of  course  did  a 
world  of  good.  But  when  I  look  over  their  sermons,  I  put  an 
interrogation  point  to  almost  everything  they  say  ;  and  what  was 
true  to  them  is  not  true  to  me;  and  if  I  should  speak  out  as 
honestly  as  they  did  what  is  true  to  me,  the  world  would  not  un- 
derstand or  receive  it,  and  I  think  it  would  do  more  harm  than 
good.  I  believe  I  am  thinking  ahead  of  the  present  generation, 
and  if  I  should  undertake  to  push  my  thoughts  I  should  only 
bother  people, — just  as  one  of  my  bright  boys  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  algebra  sometimes  worries  a  new  beginner  with  his  ad- 
vanced explanations. 

Then  again,  our  late  Revolution  has  wrought  a  change  in  the 
ministry  that  will  soon  become  more  and  more  apparent.  The 
time  when  ministers  were  noblemen  by  divine  right,  and  reigned 


MISS   MEHITABLE'S   LETTER.  221 

over  their  parishes  by  the  cocked  hat  and  gold-headed  cane,  is 
passing  away.  Dr.  Lothrop,  and  Dr.  Stern,  and  a  few  others, 
keep  up  the  prestige,  but  that  sort  of  thing  is  going  by ;  and  in 
the  next  generation  the  minister  will  be  nothing  but  a  citizen ;  his 
words  will  come  without  prestige,  and  be  examined  and  sifted 
just  like  the  words  of  any  other  citizen. 

There  is  a  1'ace  of  ministers  rising  up  who  are  fully  adequate 
to  meet  this  exigency  ;  and  these  men  are  going  to  throw  Calvin- 
ism down  into  the  arena,  and  discuss  every  inch  of  it,  hand  to 
hand  and  knee  to  knee,  with  the  common  people ;  and  we  shall 
see  what  will  come  of  this. 

I,  for  my  part,  am  not  prepared  to  be  a  minister  on  these 
terms.  Still,  as  I  said,  I  have  the  born  instinct  of  preaching ;  I 
am  dictatorial  by  nature,  and  one  of  those  who  need  constantly  to 
see  themselves  reflected  in  other  people's  eyes ;  and  so  I  have 
got  an  academy  here,  up  in  the  mountains,  where  I  have  a  set 
of  as  clear,  bright-eyed,  bright-minded  boys  and  girls  as  you 
would  wish  to  see,  and  am  in  my  way  a  pope.  Well,  I  enjoy  be- 
ing a  pope.  It  is  one  of  my  weaknesses. 

As  to  society,  we  have  the  doctor, — a  quiet  little  wrinkled  old 
man,  a  profound  disbeliever  in  medicines,  who  gives  cream-of- 
tartar  for  ordinary  cases,  and  camomile  tea  when  the  symptoms 
become  desperate,  and  reads  Greek  for  his  own  private  amuse- 
ment. Of  course  he  does  n't  get  very  rich,  but  here  in  the 
mountains  one  can  afford  to  be  poor.  One  of  our  sunsets  is  worth 
half  a  Boston  doctor's  income. 

Then  there 's  the  lawyer  and  squire,  who  draws  the  deeds,  and 
makes  the  wills,  and  settles  the  quarrels ;  and  the  minister,  who 
belongs  to  the  new  dispensation.  He  and  I  are  sworn  friends ; 
he  is  my  Fidus  Achates.  His  garden  joins  mine,  and  when  I  am 
hoeing  my  corn  he  is  hoeing  his,  and  thence  comes  talk.  As  it 
gets  more  eager  I  jump  the  fence  and  hoe  in  his  garden,  or  he 
does  the  same  to  mine.  We  have  a  strife  on  the  matter  of  garden 
craft,  who  shall  with  most  skill  outwit  our  Mother  Nature,  and  get 
cantelopes  and  melons  under  circumstances  in  which  she  never 
intended  them  to  grow.  This  year  I  beat  the  parson,  but  I  can 
see  that  he  is  secretly  resolved  to  revenge  himself  on  me  when 


222  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

the  sweet  corn  comes  in.  One  evening  every  week  we  devote  to 
reading  the  newspaper  and  settling  the  affairs  of  the  country.  We 
are  both  stanch  Federalists,  and  make  the  walls  ring  with  our 
denunciations  of  Jacobinism  and  Democracy.  Once  a  month  we 
have  the  Columbian  Magazine  and  the  foreign  news  from  Europe, 
and  then  we  have  a  great  deal  on  our  hands ;  we  go  over  affairs, 
every  country  systematically,  and  settle  them  for  the  month.  In 
general  we  are  pretty  well  agreed,  but  now  and  then  our  lines  of 
policy  differ,  and  then  we  fight  it  out  with  good  courage,  not 
sparing  the  adjectives.  The  parson  has  a  sly  humor  of  his  own, 
and  our  noisiest  discussions  generally  end  in  a  hearty  laugh. 

So  much  for  the  man  and  friend,  —  now  for  the  clergyman. 
He  is  neither  the  sentimental,  good  parson  of  Goldsmith,  nor  the 
plaintive,  ascetic  parish  priest  of  Romanism,  nor  the  cocked 
hat  of  the  theocracy,  but  a  lively,  acute,  full-blooded  man,  who 
does  his  duty  on  equal  terms  among  men.  He  is  as  single- 
hearted  as  an  unblemished  crystal,  and  in  some  matters  sacredly 
simple ;  but  yet  not  without  a  thrifty  practical  shrewdness,  both 
in  things  temporal  and  things  spiritual.  He  has  an  income  of 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  with  his  wood.  The  farmers 
about  here  consider  him  as  rolling  in  wealth,  and  I  must  say  that, 
though  the  parsonage  is  absolutely  bare  of  luxuries,  one  is  not 
there  often  unpleasantly  reminded  that  the  parson  is  a  poor  man. 
He  has  that  golden  faculty  of  enjoying  the  work  he  does  so  ut- 
terly, and  believing  in  it  so  entirely,  that  he  can  quite  afford  to 
be  poor.  He  whose  daily  work  is  in  itself  a  pleasure  ought  not 
to  ask  for  riches :  so  I  tell  myself  about  rny  school-keeping,  and 
him  about  his  parish.  He  takes  up  the  conversion  of  sinners  as 
an  immediate  practical  business,  to  be  done  and  done  now ;  he 
preaches  in  all  the  little  hills  and  dales  and  hollows  and  brown 
school-houses  for  miles  around,  and  chases  his  sinners  up  and 
down  so  zealously,  that  they  have,  on  the  whole,  a  lively  time  of 
it.  He  attacks  drinking  and  all  our  small  forms  of  country  im- 
morality with  a  vigor  sufficient  to  demolish  sins  of  double  their 
size,  and  gives  nobody  even  a  chance  to  sleep  in  meeting.  The 
good  farmers  around  here,  some  of  whom  would  like  to  serve 
Mammon  comfortably,  are  rather  in  a  quandary  what  to  do. 


MISS   MEHITABLE'S   LETTER.  223 

They  never  would  bear  the  constant  hounding  which  he  gives 
them,  and  the  cannonades  he  fires  at  their  pet  sins,  and  the  way 
he  chases  them  from  pillar  to  post,  and  the  merciless  manner  in 
which  he  breaks  in  upon  their  comfortable  old  habit  of  sleeping 
in  meeting,  were  it  not  that  they  feel  that  they  are  paying  him 
an  enormous  salary,  and  ought  to  get  their  money's  worth  out  of 
him,  which  they  are  certain  they  are  doing  most  fully.  Your 
Yankee  has  such  a  sense  of  values,  that,  if  he  pays  a  man  to  thrash 
him,  he  wants  to  be  thrashed  thoroughly. 

My  good  friend  preaches  what  they  call  New  Divinity,  by 
which  I  understand  the  Calvinism  which  our  fathers  left  us,  in 
the  commencing  process  of  disintegration.  He  is  thoroughly  and 
enthusiastically  in  earnest  about  it,  and  believes  that  the  system, 
as  far  as  Edwards  and  Hopkins  have  got  it,  is  almost  absolute 
truth ;  but,  for  all  that,  is  cheerfully  busy  in  making  some  little 
emendations  and  corrections,  upon  which  he  values  himself,  and 
which  he  thinks  of  the  greatest  consequence.  What  is  to  the 
credit  of  his  heart  is,  that  these  emendations  are  generally  in 
favor  of  some  original-minded  sheep  who  can't  be  got  into  the 
sheep-fold  without  some  alteration  in  the  paling.  In  these  cases 
I  have  generally  noticed  that  he  will  loosen  a  rail  or  tear  off  a 
picket,  and  let  the  sheep  in,  it  being  his  impression,  after  all,  that 
the  sheep  are  worth  more  than  the  sheep-fold. 

In  his  zeal  to  catch  certain  shy  sinners,  he  has  more  than  once 
preached  sermons  which  his  brethren  about  here  find  fault  with, 
as  wandering  from  old  standards  ;  and  it  costs  abundance  of 
bustle  and  ingenuity  to  arrange  his  system  so  as  to  provide  for 
exceptional  cases,  and  yet  to  leave  it  exactly  what  it  was  before 
the  alterations  were  made. 

It  is,  I  believe,  an  admitted  thing  among  theologians,  that, 
while  theology  must  go  on  improving  from  age  to  age,  it  must 
also  remain  exactly  what  it  was  a  hundred  years  ago. 

The  parson  is  my  intimate  friend,  and  it  is  easy  for  me  to  see 
that  he  has  designs  for  the  good  of  my  soul,  for  which  I  sincerely 
love  him.  I  can  see  that  he  is  lying  in  wait  for  me  patiently,  as 
sometimes  we  do  for  trout,  when  we  go  out  fishing  together. 
He  reconnoitres  me,  approaches  me  carefully,  makes  nice  little 


224  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

logical  traps  to  catch  me  in,  and  baits  them  with  very  innocent- 
looking  questions,  which  I,  being  an  old  theological  rat,  skilfully 
avoid  answering. 

My  friend's  forte  is  logic.  Between  you  and  me,  if  there  is  a 
golden  calf  worshipped  in  our  sanctified  New  England,  its  name 
is  Logic  ;  and  my  good  friend  the  parson  burns  incense  before  it 
with  a  most  sacred  innocence  of  intention.  He  believes  that 
sinners  can  be  converted  by  logic,  and  that,  if  he  could  once  get 
me  into  one  of  these  neat  little  traps  aforesaid,  the  salvation  of 
my  soul  would  be  assured.  He  has  caught  numbers  of  the 
shrewdest  infidel  foxes  among  the  farmers  around,  and  I  must 
say  that  there  is  no  trap  for  the  Yankee  like  the  logic-trap. 

I  must  tell  you  a  story  about  this  that  amused  me  greatly. 
You  know  everybody's  religious  opinions  are  a  matter  of  discus- 
sion in  our  neighborhood,  and  Ezekiel  Scranton,  a  rich  farmer 
who  lives  up  on  the  hill,  enjoys  the  celebrity  of  being  an  atheist, 
and  rather  values  himself  on  the  distinction.  It  takes  a  man  of 
courage,  you  know,  to  live  without  a  God ;  and  Ezekiel  gives 
himself  out  as  a  plucky  dog,  and  able  to  hold  the  parson  at  bay. 
The  parson,  however,  had  privately  prepared  a  string  of  ques- 
tions which  he  was  quite  sure  would  drive  Ezekiel  into  strait 
quarters.  So  he  meets  him  the  other  day  in  the  store. 

"  How 's  this,  Mr.  Scranton  ?  they  tell  me  that  you  're  an 
atheist ! " 

"  Well  I  guess  I  be,  Parson,"  says  Ezekiel,  comfortably. 

"  Well,  Ezekiel,  let 's  talk  about  this.  You  believe  in  your 
own  existence,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"  What !  not  believe  in  your  own  existence  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't."  Then,  after  a  moment,  "  Tell  you  what, 
Parson,  ain't  a  going  to  be  twitched  up  by  none  o'  your  syl- 
logisms." 

Ezekiel  was  quite  in  the  right  of  it ;  for  I  must  do  my  friend 
the  parson  the  justice  to  say,  that,  if  you  answer  one  of  his 
simple-looking  questions,  you  are  gone.  You  must  say  B  after 
saying  A,  and  the  whole  alphabet  after  that. 

For  my  part,  I  do  not  greatly  disbelieve  the  main  points  of 


MISS   MEfflTABLE'S   LETTER.  225 

Calvinism.  '  They  strike  me,  as  most  hard  and  disagreeable  things 
do,  as  quite  likely  to  be  true,  and  very  much  in  accordance  with  a 
sensible  man's  observation  of  facts  as  they  stand  in  life  and  na- 
ture. My  doubts  come  up,  like  bats,  from  a  dark  and  dreadful 
cavern  that  underlies  all  religion,  natural  or  revealed.  They  are 
of  a  class  abhorrent  to  myself,  smothering  to  my  peace,  imbitter- 
ing  to  my  life. 

What  must  he  be  who  is  tempted  to  deny  the  very  right  of  his 
Creator  to  the  allegiance  of  his  creatures  ?  —  who  is  tempted  to 
feel  that  his  own  conscious  existence  is  an  inflicted  curse,  and 
that  the  whole  race  of  men  have  been  a  set  of  neglected,  suffer- 
ing children,  bred  like  fish-spawn  on  a  thousand  shores,  by 
a  Being  who  has  never  interested  himself  to  care  for  their 
welfare,  to  prevent  their  degradation,  to  interfere  with  their 
cruelties  to  each  other,  as  they  have  writhed  and  wrangled  into 
life,  through  life,  and  out  of  life  again  ?  Does  this  look  like  being 
a  Father  in  any  sense  in  which  we  poor  mortals  think  of  father- 
hood ?  After  seeing  nature,  can  we  reason  against  any  of  the  harsh- 
est conclusions  of  Calvinism,  from  the  character  of  its  Author  ? 

Do  we  not  consider  a  man  unworthy  the  name  of  a  good  father 
who,  from  mere  blind  reproductive  instinct,  gives  birth  to  children 
for  whose  improvement,  virtue,  and  happiness  he  makes  no  pro- 
vision ?  and  yet  does  not  this  seem  to  be  the  way  more  than  half 
of  the  human  race  actually  comes  into  existence  ? 

Then  the  laws  of  nature  are  an  inextricable  labyrinth,  —  puz- 
zling, crossing,  contradictory;  and  ages  of  wearisome  study  have 
as  yet  hardly  made  a  portion  of  them  clear  enough  for  human 
comfort ;  and  doctors  and  ministers  go  on  torturing  the  body  and 
the  soul,  with  the  most  devout  good  intentions.  And  so  forth, 
for  there  is  no  end  to  this  sort  of  talk. 

Now  my  friend  the  parson  is  the  outgrowth  of  the  New 
England  theocracy,  about  the  simplest,  purest,  and  least  objec- 
tionable state  of  society  that  the  world  ever  saw.  He  has  a  good 
digestion,  a  healthy  mind  in  a  healthy  body ;  he  lives  in  a  vil- 
lage where  there  is  no  pauperism,  and  hardly  any  crime,  —  where 
all  the  embarrassing,  dreadful  social  problems  and  mysteries 
of  life  scarcely  exist.  But  I,  who  have  been  tumbled  up  and 
10*  o 


226  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

down  upon  all  the  shores  of  earth,  lived  in  India,  China,  and 
Polynesia,  and  seen  the  human  race  as  they  breed  like  vermin, 
in  their  filth  and  their  contented  degradation,  —  how  can  I  think 
of  applying  the  measurements  of  any  theological  system  to  a  real- 
ity like  this  ? 

Now  the  parts  of  their  system  on  which  my  dear  friend  the 
parson,  and  those  of  his  school,  specially  value  themselves,  are 
their  explanations  of  the  reasons  why  evil  was  permitted,  and 
their  vindications  of  the  Divine  character  in  view  of  it.  They 
are  specially  earnest  and  alert  in  giving  out  their  views  here,  and 
the  parson  has  read  to  me  more  than  one  sermon,  hoping  to 
medicate  what  he  supposes  to  be  my  secret  wound.  To  me 
their  various  theories  are,  as  my  friend  the  doctor  once  said  to 
me,  "  putting  their  bitter  pill  in  a  chestnut-burr ;  the  pill  is  bad,  — 
there  is  no  help  for  that,  —  but  the  chestnut-burr  is  impossible." 

It  is  incredible,  the  ease  and  cheerfulness  with  which  a  man  in 
his  study,  who  never  had  so  much  experience  of  suffering  as  even 
a  toothache  would  give  him,  can  arrange  a  system  in  which  the 
everlasting  torture  of  millions  is  casually  admitted  as  an  item. 
But  I,  to  whom,  seriously  speaking,  existence  has  been  for  much 
of  my  life  nothing  but  suffering,  and  who  always  looked  on  my 
existence  as  a  misfortune,  must  necessarily  feel  reasonings  of 
this  kind  in  a  different  way.  This  soul-ache,  this  throb  of  pain, 
that  seems  as  if  it  were  an  actual  anguish  of  the  immaterial  part 
itself,  is  a  dreadful  teacher,  and  gives  a  fearful  sense  of  what  the 
chances  of  an  immortal  existence  might  be,  and  what  the  respon- 
sibilities of  originating  such  existence. 

I  am  not  one  of  the  shallow  sort,  who  think  that  everything  for 
everybody  must  or  ought  to  end  with  perfect  bliss  at  death. 
On  the  contrary,  I  do  not  see  how  anything  but  misery  in  eternal 
ages  is  to  come  from  the  outpouring  into  their  abyss,  of  wran- 
gling, undisciplined  souls,  who  were  a  torment  to  themselves  and 
others  here,  and  who  would  make  this  world  unbearable,  were 
they  not  all  swept  off  in  their  turn  by  the  cobweb  brush  of 
Death. 

So  you  see  it 's  all  a  hopeless  muddle  to  me.  Do  I  then  be- 
lieve nothing?  Yes,  I  believe  in  Jesus  Christ  with  all  my 


MISS   MEHITABLE'S   LETTER.  227 

heart,  all  my  might.  He  stands  before  me  the  one  hopeful 
phenomenon  of  history.  I  adore  him  as  Divine,  or  all  of  the 
Divine  that  I  can  comprehend  ;  and  when  he  bids  me  say  to 
God,  "  Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven,"  I  smother  all  my 
doubts  and  say  it.  Those  words  are  the  rope  thrown  out  to 
me,  choking  in  the  waters,  —  the  voice  from  the  awful  silence. 
"  God  so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his  own  Son."  I  try 
to  believe  that  he  loves  this  world,  but  I  have  got  only  so  far 
as  "  Help  thou  mine  unbelief." 

Now,  as  to  talking  out  all  this  to  the  parson,  what  good  would 
it  do  ?  He  is  preaching  well  and  working  bravely.  His  preach- 
ing suits  the  state  of  advancement  to  which  New  England  has 
come ;  and  the  process  which  he  and  ministers  of  his  sort  insti- 
tute, of  having  every  point  in  theology  fully  discussed  by  the 
common  people,  is  not  only  a  capital  drill  for  their  minds,  but  it 
will  have  its  effect  in  the  end  on  their  theologies,  and  out  of 
them  all  the  truth  of  the  future  will  arise. 

So  you  see  my  position,  and  why  I  am  niched  here  for  life,  as 
a  schoolmaster.  Come  up  and  see  me  some  time.  I  have  a 
housekeeper  who  is  as  ugly  as  Hecate,  but  who  reads  Greek. 
She  makes  the  best  bread  and  cake  in  town,  keeps  my  stock- 
ings mended  and  my  shirt-ruffles  plaited  and  my  house  like  wax, 
and  hears  a  class  in  Virgil  every  day,  after  she  has  "  done  her 
dinner-dishes."  I  shall  not  fall  in  love  with  her,  though.  Come 
some  time  to  see  me,  and  bring  your  new  acquisition. 

Your  brother, 

JONATHAN  ROSSITER. 

I  have  given  these  two  letters  as  the  best  means  of  showing 
to  the  reader  the  character  of  the  family  with  whom  my  destiny 
and  that  of  Tina  became  in  future  life  curiously  intertwisted. 

Among  the  peculiarly  English  ideas  which  the  Colonists 
brought  to  Massachusetts,  which  all  the  wear  and  tear  of  democ- 
racy have  not  been  able  to  obliterate,  was  that  of  family.  Family 
feeling,  family  pride,  family  hope  and  fear  and  desire,  were,  in 
my  early  day,  strongly-marked  traits.  Genealogy  was  a  thing  at 
the  tip  of  every  person's  tongue,  and  in  every  person's  mind ; 


228  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

and  it  is  among  my  most  vivid  remembrances,  with  what  a  solemn 
air  of  intense  interest  my  mother,  grandmother,  Aunt  Lois,  and 
Aunt  Keziah  would  enter  into  minute  and  discriminating  par- 
ticulars with  regard  to  the  stock,  intermarriages,  and  family  set- 
tlements of  the  different  persons  whose  history  was  under  their 
consideration.  "  Of  a  very  respectable  family,"  was  a  sentence 
so  often  repeated  at  the  old  fireside  that  its  influence  went  in 
part  to  make  up  my  character.  In  our  present  days,  when 
every  man  is  emphatically  the  son  of  his  own  deeds,  and  nobody 
cares  who  his  mother  or  grandmother  or  great-aunt  was,  there 
can  scarcely  be  an  understanding  of  this  intense  feeling  of  race 
and  genealogy  which  pervaded  simple  colonial  Massachusetts. 

As  I  have  often  before  intimated,  the  aristocracy  of  Massachu- 
setts consisted  of  two  classes,  the  magistracy  and  the  ministry ; 
and  these  two,  in  this  theocratic  State,  played  into  each  other's 
hands  continually.  Next  to  the  magistrate  and  the  minister,  in 
the  esteem  of  that  community,  came  the  schoolmaster ;  for  edu- 
cation might  be  said  to  be  the  ruling  passion  of  the  State. 

The  history  of  old  New  England  families  is  marked  by  strong 
lights  and  deep  shadows  of  personal  peculiarity.  We  appeal  to 
almost  every  old  settler  in  New  England  towns,  if  he  cannot 
remember  stately  old  houses,  inhabited  by  old  families,  whose 
histories  might  be  brought  to  mind  by  that  of  Miss  Mehitable 
and  her  brother.  There  was  in  them  a  sort  of  intellectual  vigor, 
a  ceaseless  activity  of  thought,  a  passion  for  reading  and  study, 
and  a  quiet  brooding  on  the  very  deepest  problems  of  mental 
and  moral  philosophy.  The  characteristic  of  such  families  is 
the  greatly  disproportioned  force  of  the  internal,  intellectual, 
and  spiritual  life  to  the  external  one.  Hence  come  often  morbid 
and  diseased  forms  of  manifestation.  The  threads  which  con- 
nect such  persons  with  the  real  life  of  the  outer  world  are  so  fine 
and  so  weak,  that  they  are  constantly  breaking  and  giving  way 
here  and  there,  so  that,  in  such  races,  oddities  and  eccentricities 
are  come  to  be  accepted  only  as  badges  of  family  character.  Yet 
from  stock  of  this  character  have  come  some  of  the  most  brilliant 
and  effective  minds  in  New  England ;  and  from  them  also  have 
come  hermits  and  recluses,  —  peculiar  and  exceptional  people,  — 


MISS  MEHITABLE'S  LETTER.  229 

people  delightful  to  the  student  of  human  nature,  but  excessively 
puzzling  to  the  e very-day  judgment  of  mere  conventional  society. 

The  Rossiter  family  had  been  one  of  these.  It  traced  its  ori- 
gin to  the  colony  which  came  out  with  Governor  Winthrop.  The 
eldest  Rossiter  had  been  one  of  the  ejected  ministers,  and  came 
from  a  good  substantial  family  of  the  English  gentry.  For 
several  successive  generations  there  had  never  been  wanting  a 
son  in  the  Rossiter  family  to  succeed  to  the  pulpit  of  his  father. 
The  Rossiters  had  been  leaned  on  by  the  magistrates  and  con- 
sulted by  the  governors,  and  their  word  had  been  law  down  to  the 
time  of  Miss  Mehitable's  father. 

The  tendency  of  the  stately  old  families  of  New  England  to 
constitutional  melancholy  has  been  well  set  forth  by  Dr.  Cotton 
Mather,  that  delightful  old  New  England  grandmother,  whose 
nursery  tales  of  its  infancy  and  childhood  may  well  be  pon- 
dered by  those  who  would  fully  understand  its  far-reaching  ma- 
turity. As  I  have  before  remarked,  I  have  high  ideas  of  the 
wisdom  of  grandmothers,  and  therefore  do  our  beloved  gossip, 
Dr.  Cotton  Mather,  the  greatest  possible  compliment  in  grant- 
ing him  the  title. 

The  ministers  of  the  early  colonial  days  of  New  England, 
though  well-read,  scholarly  men,  were  more  statesmen  than  theo- 
logians. Their  minds  ran  upon  the  actual  arrangements  of  socie- 
ty, which  were  in  a  great  degree  left  in  their  hands,  rather  than 
on  doctrinal  and  metaphysical  subtilties.  They  took  their  con- 
fession of  faith  just  as  the  great  body  of  Protestant  reformers  left 
it,  and  acted  upon  it  as  a  practical  foundation,  without  much  fur- 
ther discussion,  until  the  time  of  President  Edwards.  He  was 
the  first  man  who  began  the  disintegrating  process  of  applying 
rationalistic  methods  to  the  accepted  doctrines  of  religion,  and 
he  rationalized  far  more  boldly  and  widely  than  any  publishers 
of  his  biography  have  ever  dared  to  let  the  world  know.  He 
sawed  the  great  dam  and  let  out  the  whole  waters  of  discus- 
sion over  all  New  England,  and  that  free  discussion  led  to  all  the 
shades  of  opinion  of  our  modern  days.  Little  as  he  thought 
it,  yet  Waldo  Emerson  and  Theodore  Parker  were  the  last  re- 
sults of  the  current  set  in  motion  by  Jonathan  Edwards. 


230  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Miss  Mehitable  Rossiter's  father,  during  the  latter  part  of  his 
life,  had  dipped  into  this  belt  of  New  Divinity,  and  been  exces- 
sively and  immoderately  interested  in  certain  speculations  con- 
cerning them.  All  the  last  part  of  his  life  had  been  consumed 
in  writing  a  treatise  in  opposition  to  Dr.  Stern,  another  rigorous 
old  cocked-hat  of  his  neighborhood,  who  maintained  that  the 
Deity  had  created  sin  on  purpose,  because  it  was  a  necessary 
means  of  the  greatest  good.  Dr.  Rossiter  thought  that  evil  had 
only  been  permitted,  because  it  could  be  overruled  for  the  greatest 
good ;  and  each  of  them  fought  their  battle  as  if  the  fate  of  the 
universe  was  to  be  decided  by  its  results. 

Considered  as  a  man,  in  his  terrestrial  and  mundane  relations, 
Dr.  Rossiter  had  that  wholesome  and  homely  interest  in  the 
things  of  this  mortal  life  which  was  characteristic  of  the  New 
England  religious  development.  "While  the  Puritans  were  in- 
tensely interested  in  the  matters  of  the  soul,  they  appeared  to 
have  a  realizing  sense  of  the  fact  that  a  soul  without  a  body,  in  a 
material  world,  is  at  a  great  disadvantage  in  getting  on.  So 
they  exhibited  a  sensible  and  commendable  sense  of  the  worth  of 
property.  They  were  especially  addicted  to  lawful  matrimony, 
and  given  to  having  large  families  of  children  ;  and,  if  one  wife 
died,  they  straightway  made  up  the  loss  by  another,  —  a  com- 
pliment to  the  virtues  of  the  female  sex  which  womankind  ap- 
pear always  gratefully  to  appreciate. 

Parson  Rossiter  had  been  three  times  married ;  first,  to  a 
strong-grained,  homely,  highly  intellectual  woman  of  one  of  the 
first  Boston  families,  of  whom  Miss  Mehitable  Rossiter  was  the 
only  daughter.  The  Doctor  was  said  to  be  one  of  the  handsomest 
men  of  his  times.  Nature,  with  her  usual  perversity  in  these 
matters,  made  Miss  Mehitable  an  exact  reproduction  of  all  the 
homely  traits  of  her  mother,  with  the  addition  of  the  one  or  two 
physical  defects  of  her  handsome  father.  No  woman  with  a  heart 
in  her  bosom  ever  feels  marked  personal  uncomeliness  otherwise 
than  as  a  great  misfortune.  Miss  Mehitable  bore  it  with  a 
quaint  and  silent  pride.  Her  brother  Jonathan,  next  to  herself 
in  age,  the  son  of  a  second  and  more  comely  wife,  was  far  more 
gifted  in  personal  points,  though  not  equal  to  his  father. 


MISS   MEHITABLE'S  LETTER.  231 

Finally,  late  in  life,  after  a  somewhat  prolonged  widowhood, 
Parson  Rossiter  committed  the  folly  of  many  men  on  the  down- 
hill side  of  life,  that  of  marrying  a  woman  considerably  younger 
than  himself.  She  was  a  pretty,  nervous,  excitable,  sensitive 
creature,  whom  her  homely  elder  daughter,  Miss  Mehitable,  no 
less  than  her  husband,  petted  and  caressed  on  account  of  her 
beauty,  as  if  she  had  been  a  child.  She  gave  birth  to  two  more 
children,  a  son  named  Theodore,  and  a  daughter  named  Emily, 
and  then  died. 

All  the  children  had  inherited  from  their  father  the  peculiar 
constitutional  tendency  to  depression  of  spirits  of  which  we  have 
spoken.  In  these  last  two,  great  beauty  and  brilliant  powers 
of  mind  were  united  with  such  a  singular  sensitiveness  and  way- 
wardness of  nature  as  made  the  prospect  for  happiness  in  such  a 
life  as  this,  and  under  the  strict  requirements  of  New  England 
society,  very  problematical. 

Theodore  ran  through  a  brilliant  course  in  college,  notwith- 
standing constant  difficulties  with  the  college  authorities,  but 
either  could  not  or  would  not  apply  himself  to  any  of  the  ac- 
cepted modes  of  getting  bread  and  butter  which  a  young  man 
must  adopt  who  means  to  live  and  get  on  with  other  men. 
He  was  full  of  disgusts,  and  repulsions,  and  dislikes  ;  everything 
in  life  wounded  and  made  him  sore ;  he  could  or  would  do  noth- 
ing reasonably  or  rationally  with  human  beings,  and,  to  deaden 
the  sense  of  pain  in  existence,  took  to  the  use  of  opiates,  which  left 
him  a  miserable  wreck  on  his  sister's  hands,  the  father  being 
dead. 

Thus  far  the  reader  has  the  history  of  this  family,  and  intima- 
tions of  the  younger  and  more  beautiful  one  whose  after  fate  was 
yet  to  be  connected  with  ours. 

Miss  Mehitable  Rossiter  has  always  been  to  me  a  curious  study. 
Singularly  plain  as  she  was  in  person,  old,  withered,  and  poor, 
she  yet  commanded  respect,  and  even  reverence,  through  the 
whole  of  a  wide  circle  of  acquaintance ;  for  she  was  well  known 
to  some  of  the  most  considerable  families  in  Boston,  with  whom, 
by  her  mother's  side,  she  was  connected.  The  interest  in  her 
was  somewhat  like  that  in  old  lace,  old  china,  and  old  cashmere 


232  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

shawls ;  which,  though  often  excessively  uncomely,  and  looking  in 
the  eyes  of  uninterested  people  like  mere  rubbish,  are  held  by 
connoisseurs  to  be  beyond  all  price. 

Miss  Mehitable  herself  had  great  pride  of  character,  in  the 
sense  in  which  pride  is  an  innocent  weakness,  if  not  a  species  of 
virtue.  She  had  an  innate  sense  that  she  belonged  to  a  good 
family,  —  a  perfectly  quiet  conviction  that  she  was  a  Bradford  by 
her  mother's  side,  and  a  Rossiter  by  her  father's  side,  come 
what  might  in  this  world.  She  was  too  well  versed  in  the  duties 
of  good  blood  not  to  be  always  polite  and  considerate  to  the  last 
degree  to  all  well-meaning  common  people,  for  she  felt  the 
noblesse  oblige  as  much  as  if  she  had  been  a  duchess.  And,  for 
that  matter,  in  the  circles  of  Oldtown  everything  that  Miss 
Mehitable  did  and  said  had  a  certain  weight,  quite  apart  from 
that  of  her  really  fine  mental  powers.  It  was  the  weight  of  past 
generations,  of  the  whole  Colony  of  Massachusetts ;  all  the  ser- 
mons of  five  generations  of  ministers  were  in  it,  which  to  a  God- 
fearing community  is  a  great  deal. 

But  in  her  quaint,  uncomely  body  was  lodged,  not  only  a  most 
active  and  even  masculine  mind,  but  a  heart  capable  of  those' 
passionate  extremes  of  devotion  which  belong  to  the  purely  fem- 
inine side  of  woman.  She  was  capable  of  a  romantic  excess 
of  affection,  of  an  extravagance  of  hero-worship,  which,  had  she 
been  personally  beautiful,  might  perhaps  have  made  her  the 
heroine  of  some  poem  of  the  heart.  It  was  among  the  quietly 
accepted  sorrows  of  her  life,  that  for  her  no  such  romance  was 
possible. 

Men  always  admired  her  as  they  admired  other  men,  and 
talked  to  her  as  they  talked  with  each  other.  Many,  during  the 
course  of  her  life,  had  formed  friendships  with  her,  which  were 
mere  relations  of  comradeship,  but  which  never  touched  the 
inner  sphere  of  the  heart.  That  heart,  so  warm,  so  tender,  and 
so  true,  she  kept,  with  a  sort  of  conscious  shame,  hidden  far 
behind  the  intrenchments  of  her  intellect.  With  an  instinctive 
fear  of  ridicule,  she  scarcely  ever  spoke  a  tender  word,  and 
generally  veiled  a  soft  emotion  under  some  quaint  phrase  of 
drollery.  She  seemed  forever  to  feel  the  strange  contrast 


MISS  MEHITABLE'S  LETTER.  233 

between  the  burning,  romantic  heart  and  the  dry  and  withered 
exterior. 

Like  many  other  women  who  have  borne  the  curse  of  marked 
plainness,  Miss  Mehitable  put  an  extravagant  valuation  on  per- 
sonal beauty.  Her  younger  sister,  whose  loveliness  was  uncom- 
mon, was  a  sort  of  petted  idol  to  her,  during  all  her  childish  years. 
At  the  time  of  her  father's  death,  she  would  gladly  have  re- 
tained her  with  her,  but,  like  many  other  women  who  are  strong 
on  the  intellectual  side  of  their  nature,  Miss  Mehitable  had  a  sort 
of  weakness  and  helplessness  in  relation  to  mere  material  mat- 
ters, which  rendered  her,  in  the  eyes  of  the  family,  unfit  to  be 
trusted  with  the  bringing  up  of  a  bright  and  wilful  child.  In 
fact,  as  regarded  all  the  details  of  daily  life,  Miss  Mehitable  was 
the  servant  of  Polly,  who  had  united  the  offices  of  servant-of-all- 
work,  housekeeper,  nurse,  and  general  factotum  in  old  Parson 
Eossiter's  family,  and  between  whom  and  the  little  wilful  Emily 
grievous  quarrels  had  often  arisen.  For  all  these  reasons,  and 
because  Mrs.  Farnsworth  of  the  neighboring  town  of  Adams 
was  the  only  sister  of  the  child's  mother,  was  herself  childless, 
and  in  prosperous  worldly  circumstances,  it  would  have  been 
deemed  a  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence  to  refuse  her,  when 
she  declared  her  intention  of  adopting  her  sister's  child  as  her 
own. 

Of  what  came  of  this  adoption  I  shall  have  occasion  to  speak 
hereafter. 


234  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

MISS     ASPHYXIA     GOES     IN     PURSUIT,    AND     MY     GRANDMOTHER 
GIVES    HER   VIEWS    ON    EDUCATION. 

WHEN  Miss  Asphyxia  Smith  found  that  both  children 
really  had  disappeared  from  Needmore  so  completely  that 
no  trace  of  them  remained,  to  do  her  justice,  she  felt  some  solici- 
tude to  know  what  had  become  of  them.  There  had  not  been 
wanting  instances  in  those  early  days,  when  so  large  a  part  of 
Massachusetts  was  unbroken  forest,  of  children  who  had  wandered 
away  into  the  woods  and  starved  to  death  ;  and  Miss  Asphyxia 
was  by  no  means  an  ill-wisher  to  any  child,  nor  so  utterly  with- 
out bowels  as  to  contemplate  such  a  possibility  without  some 
anxiety. 

Not  that  she  in  the  least  doubted  the  wisdom  and  perfect  pro- 
priety of  her  own  mode  of  administration,  which  she  had  full 
faith  would  in  the  end  have  made  a  "  smart  girl "  of  her  little 
charge.  "  That  'ere  little  limb  did  n't  know  what  was  good  for 
herself,"  she  said  to  Sol,  over  their  evening  meal  of  cold  potatoes 
and  boiled  beef. 

Sol  looked  round-eyed  and  stupid,  and  squared  his  shoulders, 
as  he  always  did  when  this  topic  was  introduced.  He  suggested, 
"  You  don't  s'pose  they  could  'a'  wandered  off  to  the  maountains 
where  Bijah  Peters'  boy  got  lost  ?  " 

There  was  a  sly  satisfaction  in  observing  the  anxious,  brooding 
expression  which  settled  down  over  Miss  Asphyxia's  dusky  fea- 
tures at  the  suggestion. 

"  When  they  found  that  'ere  boy,"  continued  Sol,  "  he  was  all 
worn  to  skin  and  bone ;  he  'd  kep'  himself  a  week  on  berries 
and  ches'nuts  and  sich,  but  a  boy  can't  be  kep'  on  what  a  squirrel 
can." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  "  I  know  one  thing  ;  it  ain't  my 
fault  if  they  do  starve  to  death.  Silly  critters,  they  was ;  well 


MISS  ASPHYXIA   GOES  IX   PURSUIT.  235 

provided  for,  good  home,  good  clothes,  plenty  and  plenty  to  eat. 
I  'm  sure  you  can  bear  witness  ef  I  ever  stinted  that  'ere  child  in 
her  victuals." 

"  I  '11  bear  you  out  on  that  'ere,"  said  Sol. 

"  And  well  you  may ;  I  'd  scorn  not  to  give  any  one  in  my 
house  a  good  bellyful,"  quoth  Miss  Asphyxia. 

"  That 's  true  enough,"  said  Sol ;  "  everybody  '11  know  that." 

"  Well,  it 's  jest  total  depravity,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia.  "  How 
can  any  one  help  bein'  convinced  o'  that,  that  has  anything  to 
do  with  young  uns  ?  " 

But  the  subject  preyed  upon  the  severe  virgin's  mind ;  and  she 
so  often  mentioned  it,  with  that  roughening  of  her  scrubby  eye- 
brows which  betokened  care,  that  Sol's  unctuous  good-nature  was 
somewhat  moved,  and  he  dropped  at  last  a  hint  of  having  fallen 
on  a  trace  of  the  children.  He  might  as  well  have  put  the  tips 
of  his  fingers  into  a  rolling-mill.  Miss  Asphyxia  was  so  wide- 
awake and  resolute  about  anything  that  she  wanted  to  know, 
that  Sol  at  last  was  obliged  to  finish  with  informing  her  that  he 
had  heard  of  the  children  as  having  been  taken  in  at  Deacon 
Badger's,  over  in  Oldtown.  Sol  internally  chuckled,  as  he  gave 
the  information,  when  he  saw  how  immediately  Miss  Asphyxia 
bristled  with  wrath.  Even  the  best  of  human  beings  have  felt 
that  transient  flash  when  anxiety  for  the  fate  of  a  child  supposed 
to  be  in  fatal  danger  gives  place  to  unrestrained  vexation  at  the 
little  culprit  who  has  given  such  a  fright. 

"  Well,  I  shall  jest  tackle  up  and  go  over  and  bring  them 
children  home  agin,  at  least  the  girl.  Brother,  he  says  he  don't 
want  the  boy ;  he  wa'n't  nothin'  but  a  plague ;  but  I  'm  one  o' 
them  persons  that  when  I  undertake  a  thing  I  mean  to  go  through 
with  it.  Now  I  undertook  to  raise  that  'ere  girl,  and  I  mean  to. 
She  need  n't  think  she  's  goin'  to  come  round  me  with  any  o'  her 
shines,  going  over  to  Deacon  Badger's  with  lying  stories  about 
me.  Mis'  Deacon  Badger  need  n't  think  she 's  goin'  to  hold  up 
her  head  over  me,  if  she  is  a  deacon's  wife  and  I  aint  a  perfessor 
of  religion.  I  guess  I  could  be  a  perfessor  if  I  chose  to  do  as 
some  folks  do.  That 's  what  I  told  Mis'  Deacon  Badger  once 
when  she  asked  me  why  I  did  n't  jine  the  church.  <  Mis' 


236  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Badger,'  says  I,  l  perfessiu  ain't  possessin,  and  I  'd  ruther  stand 
outside  the  church  than  go  on  as  some  people  do  inside  on  't.'  " 

Therefore  it  was  that  a  day  or  two  after,  when  Miss  Mehitable 
was  making  a  quiet  call  at  my  grandmother's,  and  the  party,  con- 
sisting of  my  grandmother,  Aunt  Lois,  and  Aunt  Keziah,  were 
peacefully  rattling  their  knitting-needles,  while  Tina  was  play- 
ing by  the  river-side,  the  child's  senses  were  suddenly  paralyzed 
by  the  sight  of  Miss  Asphyxia  driving  with  a  strong  arm  over 
the  bridge  near  my  grandmother's. 

In  a  moment  the  little  one's  heart  was  in  her  throat.  She  had 
such  an  awful  faith  in  Miss  Asphyxia's  power  to  carry  through 
anything  she  undertook,  that  all  her  courage  withered  at  once  at 
sight  of  her.  She  ran  in  at  the  back  door,  perfectly  pale  with 
fright,  and  seized  hold  imploringly  of  Miss  Mehitable's  gown. 

"  O,  she 's  coming !  she 's  coming  after  me.  Don't  let  her  get 
me  ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  said  my  grandmother.  "What 
ails  the  child  ?  " 

Miss  Mehitable  lifted  her  in  her  lap,  and  began  a  soothing 
course  of  inquiry ;  but  the  child  clung  to  her,  only  reiterating, 
"  Don't  let  her  have  me  !  she  is  dreadful !  don't !  " 

"  As  true  as  you  live,  mother,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  who  had  tripped 
to  the  window,  "  there 's  Miss  Asphyxia  Smith  hitching  her  horse 
at  our  picket  fence." 

"  She  is  ?  "  said  my  grandmother,  squaring  her  shoulders,  and 
setting  herself  in  fine  martial  order.  "  Well,  let  her  come  in ; 
she 's  welcome,  I  'm  sure.  I  'd  like  to  talk  to  that  woman !  It 's  a 
free  country,  and  everybody 's  got  to  speak  their  minds,"  —  and 
my  grandmother  rattled  her  needles  with  great  energy. 

In  a  moment  more  Miss  Asphyxia  entered.  She  was  arrayed 
in  her  best  Sunday  clothes,  and  made  the  neighborly  salutations 
with  an  air  of  grim  composure.  There  was  silence,  and  a  sense 
of  something  brooding  in  the  air,  as  there  often  is  before  the  out- 
burst of  a  storm. 

Finally,  Miss  Asphyxia  opened  the  trenches.  "  I  come  over, 
Mis'  Badger,  to  see  about  a  gal  o'  mine  that  has  run  away." 
Here  her  eye  rested  severely  on  Tina. 


MISS  ASPHYXIA   GOES  IN  PURSUIT.  237 

"  Run  away  ! "  quoth  my  grandmother,  briskly  ;  "  and  good 
reason  she  should  run  aAvay ;  all  I  wonder  at  is  that  you  have 
the  face  to  come  to  a  Christian  family  after  her,  —  that 's  all. 
Well,  she  is  provided  for,  and  you  've  no  call  to  be  inquiring  any- 
thing about  her.  So  I  advise  you  to  go  home,  and  attend  to 
your  own  affairs,  and  leave  children  to  folks  that  know  how  to 
manage  them  better  than  you  do." 

"  I  expected  this,  Mis'  Badger,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  in  a 
towering  wrath,  "  but  I  'd  have  you  to  know  that  I  ain't  a  person 
that 's  going  to  take  sa'ace  from  no  one.  No  deacon  nor  deacon's 
wife,  nor  perfesser  of  religion,  's  a  goin'  to  turn  up  their  noses  at 
me  !  I  can  hold  up  my  head  with  any  on  'em,  and  I  think  your 
religion  might  teach  you  better  than  takin'  up  stories  agin  your 
neighbors,  as  a  little  lyin',  artful  hussy  '11  tell."  Here  there 
was  a  severe  glance  at  Miss  Tina,  who  quailed  before  it,  and 
clung  to  Miss  Mehitable's  gown.  "  Yes,  indeed,  you  may  hide 
your  head/'  she  continued,  "  but  you  can't  git  away  from  the 
truth ;  not  when  I  'm  round  to  bring  you  out.  Yes,  Mis' 
Badger,  I  defy  her  to  say  I  hain't  done  well  by  her,  if  she 
says  the  truth ;  for  I  say  it  now,  this  blessed  minute,  and 
would  say  it  on  my  dyin'  bed,  and  you  can  ask  Sol  ef  that  'ere 
child  hain't  had  everything  pervided  for  her  that  a  child  could 
want, —  a  good  clean  bed  and  plenty  o'  bedclothes,  and  good 
whole  clothes  to  wear,  and  her  belly  full  o'  good  victuals  every 
day;  an'  me  a  teachin'  and  a  trainin'  on  her,  enough  to  wear 
the  very  life  out  o'  me,  —  for  I  always  hated  young  uns,  and 
this  ere  's  a  perfect  little  limb  as  I  ever  did  see.  Why,  what 
did  she  think  I  was  a  goin'  to  do  for  her  ?  I  did  n't  make  a  lady 
on  her  ;  to  be  sure  I  did  n't :  I  was  a  fetchin'  on  her  up  to  work 
for  her  livin'  as  I  was  fetched  up.  I  had  n't  nothin'  more  'n  she  ; 
an'  just  look  at  me  now ;  there  ain't  many  folks  that  can  turn  off 
as  much  work  in  a  day  as  I  can,  though  I  say  it  that  should  n't. 
And  I  've  got  as  pretty  a  piece  of  property,  and  as  well  seen  to, 
as  most  any  round ;  and  all  I  've  got  —  house  and  lands  —  is 
my  own  arnin's,  honest,  so  there  !  There 's  folks,  I  s'pose,  that 
thinks  they  can  afford  to  keep  tavern  for  all  sorts  of  stragglers 
and  runaways,  Injun  and  white.  I  never  was  one  o'  them  sort  of 


238  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

folks,  an'  I  should  jest  like  to  know  cf  those  folks  is  able,  —  that's 
all.  I  guess  if  'counts  was  added  up,  my  'counts  would  square  up 
better  'n  theirn." 

Here  Miss  Asphyxia  elevated  her  nose  and  sniffed  over  my 
grandmother's  cap-border  in  a  very  contemptuous  manner,  and 
the  cap-border  bristled  defiantly,  but  undismayed,  back  again. 

"  Come  now,  Mis'  Badger,  have  it  out ;  I  ain't  afraid  of  you  ! 
I  'd  just  like  to  have  you  tell  me  what  I  could  ha'  done  more 
nor  better  for  this  child." 

"  Done  ! "  quoth  my  grandmother,  with  a  pop  like  a  roasted 
chestnut  bursting  out  of  the  fire.  "  Why,  you  've  done  what 
you  'd  no  business  to.  You  'd  no  business  to  take  a  child  at 
all ;  you  have  n't  got  a  grain  of  niotherliness  in  you.  Why, 
look  at  natur',  that  might  teach  you  that  more  than  meat  and 
drink  and  clothes  is  wanted  for  a  child.  Hens  brood  their 
chickens,  and  keep  'em  warm  under  their  wings  ;  and  cows  lick 
their  calves  and  cosset  'em,  and  it 's  a  mean  shame  that  folks  will 
take  'em  away  from  them.  There  's  our  old  cat  will  lie  an  hour 
on  the  kitchen  floor  and  let  her  kittens  lug  and  pull  at  her, 
at  ween  sleeping  and  waking,  just  to  keep  'em  warm  and  com- 
fortable, you  know.  'T  ain't  just  feedin'  and  clothin'  back  and 
belly  that 's  all ;  it 's  broodin'  that  young  creeturs  wants ;  and  you 
hain't  got  a  bit  of  broodin'  in  you  ;  your  heart 's  as  hard  as  the 
nether  mill-stone.  Sovereign  grace  may  soften  it  some  day,  but 
nothin'  else  can ;  you  're  a  poor,  old,  hard,  worldly  woman,  Miss 
Asphyxia  Smith :  that 's  what  you  are  !  If  Divine  grace  could 
have  broken  in  upon  you,  and  given  you  a  heart  to  love  the  child, 
you  might  have  brought  her  up,  'cause  you  are  a  smart  woman, 
and  an  honest  one ;  that  nobody  denies." 

Here  Miss  Mehitable  took  up  the  conversation,  surveying 
Miss  Asphyxia  with  that  air  of  curious  attention  with  which  one 
studies  a  human  being  entirely  out  of  the  line  of  one's  personal 
experience.  Miss  Mehitable  was,  as  we  have  shown,  in  every 
thread  of  her  being  and  education  an  aristocrat,  and  had  for  Miss 
Asphyxia  that  polite,  easy  tolerance  which  a  sense  of  undoubted 
superiority  gives,  united  with  a  shrewd  pleasure  in  the  study  of 
a  new  and  peculiar  variety  of  the  human  species. 


MISS  ASPHYXIA   GOES  IN  PURSUIT.  239 

"  My  good  Miss  Smith,"  she  observed,  in  conciliatory  tones, 
"  by  your  own  account  you  must  have  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
with  this  child.  Now  I  propose  for  the  future  to  relieve  you  of  it 
altogether.  I  do  not  think  you  would  ever  succeed  in  making  as 
efficient  a  person  as  yourself  of  her.  It  strikes  me,"  she  added, 
with  a  humorous  twinkle  of  her  eye,  "that  there  are  radical 
differences  of  nature,  which  would  prevent  her  growing  up  like 
yourself.  I  don't  doubt  you  conscientiously  intended  to  do  your 
duty  by  her,  and  I  beg  you  to  believe  that  you  need  have  no  fur- 
ther trouble  with  her." 

"  Goodness  gracious  knows,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  "  the  child 
ain't  much  to  fight  over,  —  she  was  nothin'  but  a  plague  ;  and  I M 
rather  have  done  all  she  did  any  day,  than  to  'a'  had  her  round 
under  my  feet.  I  hate  young  uns,  anyway." 

"  Then  why,  my  good  woman,  do  you  object  to  parting  with 
her  ? " 

"  Who  said  I  did  object  ?  I  don't  care  nothin'  about  parting 
with  her ;  all  is,  when  I  begin  a  thing  I  like  to  go  through  with  it." 

"  But  if  it  is  n't  worth  going  through  with,"  said  Miss  Mehita- 
ble,  "  it 's  as  well  to  leave  it,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  And  I  'd  got  her  clothes  made,  —  not  that  they  're  worth 
so  very  much,  but  then  they  're  worth  just  what  they  are  worth, 
anyway,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia. 

Here  Tina  made  a  sudden  impulsive  dart  from  Miss  Mehitable's 
lap,  and  ran  out  of  the  back  door,  and  over  to  her  new  home,  and 
up  into  the  closet  of  the  chamber  where  was  hanging  the  new 
suit  of  homespun  in  which  Miss  Asphyxia  had  arrayed  her.  She 
took  it  down  and  rolled  the  articles  all  together  in  a  tight  bundle, 
which  she  secured  with  a  string,  and,  before  the  party  in  the 
kitchen  had  ceased  wondering  at  her  flight,  suddenly  reappeared, 
with  flushed  cheeks  and  dilated  eyes,  and  tossed  the  bundle  into 
Miss  Asphyxia's  lap.  "  There  's  every  bit  you  ever  gave  me," 
she  said  ;  "  I  don't  want  to  keep  a  single  thing." 

"  My  dear,  is  that  a  proper  way  to  speak  ?  "  said  Miss  Mehita- 
ble,  reprovingly ;  but  Tina  saw  my  grandmother's  broad  shoul- 
ders joggling  with  a  secret  laugh,  and  discerned  twinkling  lines 
in  the  reproving  gravity  which  Miss  Mehitable  tried  to  assume. 
She  felt  pretty  sure  of  her  ground  by  this  time. 


240  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

"  Well,  it 's  no  use  talkin',"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  rising.  "  If 
folks  think  they  're  able  to  bring  up  a  beggar  child  like  a  lady, 
it 's  their  lookout  and  not  mine.  I  was  n't  aware,"  she  added, 
with  severe  irony,  "  that  Parson  Rossiter  left  so  much  of  an  es- 
tate that  you  could  afford  to  bring  up  other  folks'  children  in 
silks  and  satins." 

"  Our  estate  is  n't  much,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  good-naturedly, 
"  but  we  shall  make  the  best  of  it." 

"  Well,  now,  you  just  mark  my  words,  Miss  Rossiter,"  said 
Miss  Asphyxia,  "  that  'ere  child  will  never  grow  up  a  smart  wo- 
man with  your  bringin'  up ;  she  '11  jest  run  right  over  you,  and 
you  '11  let  her  have  her  head  in  everything.  I  see  jest  how 't  '11 
be ;  I  don't  want  nobody  to  tell  me." 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  quite  right,  Miss  Smith,"  said  Miss  Me- 
hitable ;  "  I  have  n't  the  slightest  opinion  of  my  own  powers  in 
that  line  ;  but  she  may  be  happy  with  me,  for  all  that." 

"Happy?"  repeated  Miss  Asphyxia,  with  an  odd  intonation,  as 
if  she  were  repeating  a  sound  of  something  imperfectly  compre- 
hended, and  altogether  out  of  her  line.  "  0,  well,  if  folks  is 
goin'  to  begin  to  talk  about  that,  I  hain't  got  time  ;  it  don't  seem 
to  me  that  that 's  what  this  'ere  world 's  for." 

"  What  is  it  for,  then  ?  "  said  Miss  Mehitable,  who  felt  an  odd 
sort  of  interest  in  the  human  specimen  before  her. 

"  Meant  for  ?  Why,  for  hard  work,  I  s'pose ;  that 's  all  I  ever 
found  it  for.  Talk  about  coddling !  it 's  little  we  get  o'  that,  the 
way  the  Lord  fixes  things  in  this  world,  dear  knows.  He  's  pretty 
up  and  down  with  us,  by  all  they  tell  us.  You  must  take  things 
right  off,  when  they  're  goin'.  Ef  you  don't,  so  much  the  worse  for 
you  ;  they  won't  wait  for  you.  Lose  an  hour  in  the  morning,  and 
you  may  chase  it  till  ye  drop  down,  you  never  '11  catch  it !  That 's 
the  way  things  goes,  and  I  should  like  to  know  who  's  a  going  to 
stop  to  quiddle  with  young  uns  ?  'T  ain't  me,  that 's  certain ;  so, 
as  there  's  no  more  to  be  made  by  this  'ere  talk,  I  may 's  well  be 
goin'.  You're  welcome  to  the  young  un,  ef  you  say  so;  I  jest 
wanted  you  to  know  that  what  I  begun  I  'd  'a'  gone  through  with, 
ef  you  had  n't  stepped  in ;  and  I  did  n't  want  no  reflections  on  my 
good  name,  neither,  for  I  had  my  ideas  of  what 's  right,  and  can 


MISS  ASPHYXIA   GOES  IN  PURSUIT. 

have  'em  yet,  I  s'pose,  if  Mis'  Badger  does  think  I  've  got  a 
heart  of  stone.  I  should  like  to  know  how  I  'm  to  have  any 
other  when  I  ain't  elected,  and  I  don't  see  as  I  am,  or  likely  to  be, 
and  I  don't  see  neither  why  I  ain't  full  as  good  as  a  good  many 
that  be." 

"Well,  well,  Miss  Smith,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  "we  can't 
any  of  us  enter  into  those  mysteries,  but  I  respect  your  motives, 
and  would  be  happy  to  see  you  any  time  you  will  call,  and  I  'm 
in  hopes  to  teach  this  little  girl  to  treat  you  properly,"  she  said, 
taking  the  child's  hand. 

"  Likely  story,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia,  with  a  short,  hard  laugh. 
"  She  '11  get  ahead  o'  you,  you  '11  see  that :  but  I  don't  hold  malice, 
so  good  morning,"  —  and  Miss  Asphyxia  suddenly  and  promptly 
departed,  and  was  soon  seen  driving  away  at  a  violent  pace. 

"  Upon  my  word,  that  woman  is  n't  so  bad,  now,"  said  Miss 
Mehitable,  looking  after  her,  while  she  leisurely  inhaled  a  pinch 
of  snuff. 

"  0,  I  'm  so  glad  you  did  n't  let  her  have  me ! "  said  Tina. 

"  To  think  of  a  creature  so  dry  and  dreary,  so  devoid  even 
of  the  conception  of  enjoyment  in  life,"  said  Miss  Mehitable, 
"hurrying  through  life  without  a  moment's  rest,  —  without  even 
the  capacity  of  resting  if  she  could,  —  and  all  for  what  ?  " 

"  For  my  part,  mother,  I  think  you  were  down  too  hard  on 
her,"  said  Aunt  Lois. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  my  grandmother,  cheerily.  "  Such  folks  ought 
to  be  talked  to;  it  may  set  her  to  thinking,  and  do  her  good. 
I  've  had  it  on  my  heart  to  give  that  woman  a  piece  of  my  mind 
ever  since  the  children  came  here.  Come  here,  my  poor  little 
dear,"  said  she  to  Tina,  with  one  of  her  impulsive  outgushes  of 
motherliness.  "  I  know  you  must  be  hungry  by  this  time  ;  come 
into  the  buttery,  and  see  what  I  've  got  for  you." 

Now  there  was  an  indiscreet  championship  of  Miss  Tina,  a 
backing  of  her  in  her  treatment  of  Miss  Asphyxia,  in  this  over- 
flow, which  Aunt  Lois  severely  disapproved,  and  which  struck 
Miss  Mehitable  as  not  being  the  very  best  thing  to  enforce  her 
own  teachings  of  decorum  and  propriety. 

The  small  young  lady  tilted  into  the  buttery  after  my  grand- 
11  p 


242  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

mother,  with  the  flushed  cheeks  and  triumphant  air  of  a  victor, 
and  they  heard  her  little  tongue  running  with  the  full  assurance 
of  having  a  sympathetic  listener. 

"  Now  mother  will  spoil  that  child,  if  you  let  her,"  said  Aunt 
Lois.  "  She 's  the  greatest  hand  to  spoil  children ;  she  always 
lets  'em  have  what  they  ask  for.  I  expect  Susy's  boys  '11  be 
raising  Cain  round  the  house ;  they  would  if  it  was  n't  for  me. 
They  have  only  to  follow  mother  into  that  buttery,  and  out  they 
come  with  great  slices  of  bread  and  butter,  any  time  of  day,  — 
yes,  and  even  sugar  on  it,  if  you  '11  believe  me." 

"  And  does  'em  good,  too,"  said  my  grandmother,  who  re- 
appeared from  the  buttery,  with  Miss  Tina  tilting  and  dancing 
before  her,  with  a  confirmatory  slice  of  bread  and  butter  and 
sugar  in  her  hand.  "Tastes  good,  don't  it,  dear?"  said  she, 
giving  the  child  a  jovial  chuck  under  her  little  chin. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Tina ;  "  I  'd  like  to  have  old  nasty 
Sphyxy  see  me  now." 

*•  Tut,  tut !  my  dear,"  said  grandmother ;  "  good  little  girls 
don't  call  names  " ;  —  but  at  the  same  time  the  venerable  gentle- 
woman nodded  and  winked  in  the  most  open  manner  across  the 
curly  head  at  Miss  Mehitable,  and  her  portly  shoulders  shook 
with  laughter,  so  that  the  young  culprit  was  not  in  the  least 
abashed  at  the  reproof. 

"  Mother,  I  do  wonder  at  you  !  "  said  Aunt  Lois,  indignantly. 

"  Never  you  mind,  Lois  ;  I  guess  I  Ve  brought  up  more  chil- 
dren than  ever  you  did,"  said  my  grandmother,  cheerily.  "  There, 
rny  little  dear,"  she  added,  "  you  may  run  down  to  your  play 
now,  and  never  fear  that  anybody  's  going  to  get  you." 

Miss  Tina,  upon  this  hint,  gladly  ran  off  to  finish  an  architec- 
tural structure  of  pebbles  by  the  river,  which  she  was  busy  in 
building  at  the  time  when  the  awful  vision  of  Miss  Asphyxia 
appeared ;  and  my  grandmother  returned  to  her  buttery  to  at- 
tend to  a  few  matters  which  had  been  left  unfinished  in  the 
morning's  work. 

"  It  is  a  very  serious  responsibility,"  said  Miss  Mehitable, 
when  she  had  knit  awhile  in  silence,  "  at  my  time  of  life,  to  charge 
one's  self  with  the  education  of  a  child.  One  treats  one's  self  to 


MISS   ASPHYXIA   GOES  IN   PURSUIT.  243 

a  child  as  one  buys  a  picture  or  a  flower,  but  the  child  will  not 
remain  a  picture  or  a  flower,  and  then  comes  the  awful  question, 
what  it  may  grow  to  be,  and  what  share  you  may  have  in 
determining  its  future." 

"  Well,  old  Parson  Moore  used  to  preach  the  best  sermons  on 
family  government  that  ever  I  heard,"  said  Aunt  Lois.  "  He  said 
you  must  begin  in  the  very  beginning  and  break  a  child's  will,  — 
short  off,  —  nothing  to  be  done  without  that.  I  remember  he 
whipped  little  Titus,  his  first  son,  off  and  on,  nearly  a  whole  day, 
to  make  him  pick  up  a  pocket-handkerchief." 

Here  the  edifying  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  loud 
explosive  expletive  from  the  buttery,  which  showed  that  my  grand- 
mother was  listening  with  anything  but  approbation. 

"  FIDDLESTICKS  ! "  quoth  she. 

"And  did  he  succeed  in  entirely  subduing  the  child's  will  in 
that  one  effort  ?  "  said  Miss  Mehitable,  musingly. 

"  Well,  no.  Mrs.  Moore  told  me  he  had  to  have  twenty  or 
thirty  just  such  spells  before  he  brought  him  under ;  but  he  per- 
severed, and  he  broke  his  will  at  last,  —  at  least  so  far  that  he 
always  minded  when  his  father  was  round." 

"  FIDDLESTICKS  ! "  quoth  my  grandmother,  in  a  yet  louder 
and  more  explosive  tone. 

"  Mrs.  Badger  does  not  appear  to  sympathize  with  your  views," 
said  Miss  Mehitable. 

"  O,  mother  ?  Of  course  she  don't ;  she  has  her  own  ways  and 
doings,  and  she  won't  hear  to  reason,"  said  Aunt  Lois. 

"  Come,  come,  Lois ;  I  never  knew  an  old  maid  who  did  n't 
think  she  knew  just  how  to  bring  up  children,"  said  my  grand- 
mother. "Wish  you  could  have  tried  yourself  with  that  sort 
of  doxy  when  you  was  little.  Guess  if  I  'd  broke  your  will,  I 
should  ha'  had  to  break  you  for  good  an'  all,  for  your  will  is 
about  all  there  is  of  you  !  But  I  tell  you,  I  had  too  much  to  do 
to  spend  a  whole  forenoon  making  you  pick  up  a  pocket-handker- 
chief. When  you  did  n't  mind,  I  hit  you  a  good  clip,  and  picked 
it  up  myself;  and  when  you  would  n't  go  where  I  wanted  you,  I 
picked  you  up,  neck  and  crop,  and  put  you  there.  That  was  my 
I  let  your  will  take  care  of  itself.  I  thought  the 


244  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Lord  had  given  you  a  pretty  strong  one,  and  he  knew  what 
't  was  for,  and  could  take  care  of  it  in  his  own  time,  which 
hain't  come  yet,  as  I  see." 

Now  this  last  was  one  of  those  personal  thrusts  with  which 
dear  family  friends  are  apt  to  give  arguments  a  practical  appli- 
cation ;  and  Aunt  Lois's  spare,  thin  cheeks  flushed  up  as  she  said, 
in  an  aggrieved  tone  :  "  Well,  I  s'pose  I  'm  dreadful,  of  course. 
Mother  always  contrives  to  turn  round  on  me." 

"  Well,  Lois,  I  hate  to  hear  folks  talk  nonsense,"  said  my 
grandmother,  who  by  this  time  had  got  a  pot  of  cream  under  her 
arm,  which  she  was  stirring  with  the  pudding-stick ;  and  this 
afforded  her  an  opportunity  for  emphasizing  her  sentences  with 
occasional  dumps  of  the  same. 

"  People  don't  need  to  talk  to  me,"  she  said,  "  about  Parson 
Moore's  government.  Tite  Moore  was  n't  any  great  shakes,  after 
all  the  row  they  made  about  him.  He  was  well  enough  while 
his  father  was  round,  but  about  the  worst  boy  that  ever  I  saw 
when  his  eye  was  off  from  him.  Good  or  bad,  my  children  was 
about  the  same  behind  my  back  that  they  were  before  my  face, 
anyway." 

"  Well,  now,  there  was  Aunt  Sally  Morse,"  said  Aunt  Lois, 
steadily  ignoring  the  point  of  my  grandmother's  discourse. 
"  There  was  a  woman  that  brought  up  children  exactly  to  suit 
me.  Everything  went  like  clock-work  with  her  babies;  they 
were  nursed  just  so  often,  and  no  more ;  they  were  put  down  to 
sleep  at  just  such  a  time,  and  nobody  was  allowed  to  rock  'em,  or 
sing  to  'em,  or  fuss  with  'em.  If  they  cried,  she  just  whipped 
them  till  they  stopped ;  and  when  they  began  to  toddle  about,  she 
never  put  things  out  of  their  reach,  but  just  slapped  their  hands 
whenever  they  touched  them,  till  they  learnt  to  let  things 
alone." 

"  Slapped  their  hands  ! "  quoth  my  grandmother,  "  and  learnt 
them  to  let  things  alone !  I  'd  like  to  ha'  seen  that  tried  on  my 
children.  Sally  had  a  set  of  white,  still  children,  that  were  all 
just  like  dipped  candles  by  natur',  and  she  laid  it  all  to  her 
management ;  and  look  at  'em  now  they  're  grown  up.  They  're 
decent,  respectable  folks,  but  noways  better  than  other  folks' 


MISS  ASPHYXIA   GOES  IN  PURSUIT.  245 

children.  Lucinda  Morse  ain't  a  bit  better  than  you  are,  Lois,  if 
she  was  whipped  and  made  to  lie  still  when  she  was  a  baby,  and 
you  were  taken  up  and  rocked  when  you  cried.  All  is,  they 
had  hard  times  when  they  were  little,  and  cried  themselves  to 
sleep  nights,  and  were  hectored  and  worried  when  they  ought  to 
have  been  taking  some  comfort.  Ain't  the  world  hard  enough, 
without  fighting  babies,  I  want  to  know  ?  I  hate  to  see  a  woman 
that  don't  want  to  rock  her  own  baby,  and  is  contriving  ways  all 
the  time  to  shirk  the  care  of  it.  Why,  if  all  the  world  was 
that  way,  there  would  be  no  sense  in  Scriptnr'.  '  As  one  whom 
his  mother  comforteth,  so  will  I  comfort  you,'  the  Bible  says, 
taking  for  granted  that  mothers  were  made  to  comfort  children 
and  give  them  good  times  when  they  are  little.  Sally  Morse 
was  always  talking  about  her  system.  She  thought  she  did 
wonders,  'cause  she  got  so  much  time  to  piece  bedquilts,  and 
work  counterpanes,  and  make  pickles,  by  turning  off  her  chil- 
dren ;  but  I  took  my  comfort  in  mine,  and  let  them  have  their 
comfort  as  they  went  along.  It 's  about  all  the  comfort  there  is 
in  this  world,  anyway,  and  they  're  none  the  worse  for  it  now,  as 
I  see." 

"  Well,  in  all  these  cases  there  is  a  medium,  if  we  could  hit  it," 
said  Miss  Mehitable.  "  There  must  be  authority  over  these 
ignorant,  helpless  little  folks  in  early  years,  to  keep  them  from 
ruining  themselves." 

"  O  yes.  Of  course  there  must  be  government,"  said  my  grand- 
mother. "  I  always  made  my  children  mind  me  ;  but  I  would  n't 
pick  quarrels  with  'em,  nor  keep  up  long  fights  to  break  their 
will ;  if  they  did  n't  mind,  I  came  down  on  'em  and  had  it  over 
with  at  once,  and  then  was  done  with  'em.  They  turned  out 
pretty  fair,  too,"  said  my  grandmother  complacently,  giving  an 
emphatic  thump  with  her  pudding-stick. 

"  I  was  reading  Mr.  John  Locke's  treatise  on  education  yes- 
terday," said  Miss  Mehitable.  "  It  strikes  me  there  are  many 
good  ideas  in  it." 

"  Well,  one  live  child  puts  all  your  treatises  to  rout,"  said  my 
grandmother.  «  There  ain't  any  two  children  alike  ;  and  what 
works  with  one  won't  with  another.  Folks  have  just  got  to  open 


246  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

their  eyes,  and  look  and  see  what  the  Lord  meant  when  he  put 
the  child  together,  if  they  can,  and  not  stand  in  his  way ;  and 
after  all  we  must  wait  for  sovereign  grace  to  finish  the  work :  if 
the  Lord  don't  keep  the  house,  the  watchman  waketh  but  in  vain. 
Children  are  the  heritage  of  the  Lord,  —  that 's  all  you  can 
make  of  it." 

My  grandmother,  like  other  warm-tempered,  impulsive,  dicta- 
torial people,  had  formed  her  theories  of  life  to  suit  her  own 
style  of  practice.  She  was,  to  be  sure,  autocratic  in  her  own 
realm,  and  we  youngsters  knew  that,  at  certain  times  when  her 
blood  was  up,  it  was  but  a  word  and  a  blow  for  us,  and  that  the 
blow  was  quite  likely  to  come  first  and  the  word  afterward  ;  but 
the  temporary  severities  of  kindly-natured,  generous  people  never 
lessen  the  affection  of  children  or  servants,  any  more  than  the  too 
hot  rays  of  the  benignant  sun,  or  the  too  driving  patter  of  the 
needful  rain.  When  my  grandmother  detected  us  in  a  childish 
piece  of  mischief,  and  soundly  cuffed  our  ears,  or  administered 
summary  justice  with  immediate  polts  of  her  rheumatic  crutch,  we 
never  felt  the  least  rising  of  wrath  or  rebellion,  but  only  made  off 
as  fast  as  possible,  generally  convinced  that  the  good  woman  was 
in  the  right  of  it,  and  that  we  got  no  more  than  we  deserved. 

I  remember  one  occasion  Avhen  Bill  had  been-  engaged  in 
making  some  dressed  chickens  dance,  which  she  had  left  trussed 
up  with  the  liver  and  lights  duly  washed  and  replaced  within 
them.  Bill  set  them  up  on  their  pins,  and  put  them  through 
active  gymnastics,  in  course  of  which  these  interior  treasures 
were  rapidly  scattered  out  upon  the  table.  A  howl  of  indigna- 
tion from  grandmother  announced  coming  wrath,  and  Bill  darted 
out  of  the  back  door,  while  I  was  summarily  seized  and  chastised. 

"  Grandmother,  grandmother !  /did  n't  do  it,  —  it  was  Bill." 

"  Well,  but  I  can't  catch  Bill,  you  see,"  said  my  venerable 
monitor,  continuing  the  infliction. 

"  But  I  did  n't  do  it." 

"  Well,  let  it  stand  for  something  you  did  do,  then,"  quoth  my 
grandmother,  by  this  time  quite  pacified :  "  you  do  bad  things 
enough  that  you  ain't  whipped  for,  any  day." 

The    whole    resulted   in   a  large   triangle   of    pumpkin   pie, 


MISS   ASPHYXIA   GOES   IX   PLUSUIT.  247 

administered  with  the  cordial  warmth  of  returning  friendship; 
and  thus  the  matter  was  happily  adjusted.  Even  the  prodigal 
son  Bill,  when,  returning  piteously,  and  standing  penitent  under 
the  milk-room  window,  he  put  in  a  submissive  plea,  "  Please, 
grandmother,  I  won't  do  so  any  more,"  was  allowed  a  peaceable 
slice  of  the  same  comfortable  portion,  and  bid  to  go  in  peace. 

I  remember  another  funny  instance  of  iny  grandmother's  dis- 
cipline. It  was  when  I  was  a  little  fellow,  seated  in  the  chimney- 
corner  at  my  grandfather's  side.  I  had  discovered  a  rising  at  the 
end  of  my  shoe-sole,  which  showed  that  it  was  beginning  to  come 
off.  It  struck  me  as  a  funny  thing  to  do  to  tear  up  the  whole 
sole,  which  piece  of  mischief  my  grandfather  perceiving,  he 
raised  his  hand  to  chastise. 

"  Come  here,  Horace,  quick ! "  said  my  grandmother,  imper- 
atively, that  she  might  save  me  from  the  impending  blow. 

I  lingered,  whereat  she  made  a  dart  at  me,  and  seized  me.  Just 
as  rny  grandfather  boxed  my  ear  on  one  side,  she  hit  me  a 
similar  cuff  on  the  other. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  come  when  I  called  you,"  she  said ;  "  now 
you've  got  your  ears  boxed  both  sides." 

Somewhat  bewildered,  I  retreated  under  her  gown  in  disgrace, 
but  I  was  after  a  relenting  moment  lifted  into  her  lap,  and  allowed 
to  go  to  sleep  upon  her  ample  bosom. 

"  Mother,  why  don't  you  send  that  boy  to  bed  nights  ?  "  said 
Aunt  Lois.  "  You  never  have  any  regular  rules  about  anything." 

"  Law,  he  likes  to  sit  up  and  see  the  fire  as  well  as  any  of  us, 
Lois ;  and  do  let  him  have  all  the  comfort  he  can  as  he  goes 
along,  poor  boy !  there  ain't  any  too  much  in  this  world,  any- 
way." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,  I  think  there  ought  to  be  system  in  bring- 
ing up  children,"  said  Aunt  Lois. 

"  Wait  till  you  get  'em  of  your  own,  and  then  try  it,  Lois," 
said  my  grandmother,  laughing  with  a  rich,  comfortable  laugh 
which  rocked  my  little  sleepy  head  up  and  down,  as  I  drowsily 
opened  my  eyes  with  a  delicious  sense  of  warmth  and  security. 

From  all  these  specimens  it  is  to  be  inferred  that  the  theorists 
on  education  will  find  no  improvement  in  the  contemplation  of 


248  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

my  grandmother's  methods,  and  will  pronounce  her  a  pig-headed, 
passionate,  impulsive,  soft-hearted  body,  as  entirely  below  the 
notice  of  a  rational,  inquiring  mind  as  an  old  brooding  hen, 
which  model  of  maternity  in  many  respects  she  resembled.  It 
may  be  so,  but  the  longer  I  live,  the  more  faith  I  have  in  grand- 
mothers and  grandmotherly  logic,  of  which,  at  some  future  time,  I 
shall  give  my  views  at  large. 


WHAT  IS  TO  BE  DONE  WITH  THE  BOY?  249 


CHAPTEE    XXI. 

WHAT   IS    TO   BE   DONE    WITH   THE    BOY? 

"  "VYTELL,"  said  my  Aunt  Lois,  as  she  gave  the  last  sweep  to 
T  T  the  hearth,  after  she  had  finished  washing  up  the  supper- 
dishes  ;  "  I  've  been  up  to  Ebal  Scran's  store  this  afternoon,  to  see 
about  soling  Horace's  Sunday  shoes.  Ebal  will  do  'em  as  rea- 
sonable as  any  one ;  and  he  spoke  to  me  to  know  whether  I 
knew  of  any  boy  that  a  good  family  would  like  to  bind  out  to 
him  for  an  apprentice,  and  I  told  him  I  'd  speak  to  you  about 
Horace.  It'll  be  time  pretty  soon  to  think  of  putting  him  at 
something." 

Among  the  many  unexplained  and  inexplicable  woes  of  child- 
hood, are  its  bitter  antagonisms,  so  perfectly  powerless,  yet  often 
so  very  decided,  against  certain  of  the  grown  people  who  control  it. 
Perhaps  some  of  us  may  remember  respectable,  well-meaning 
people,  with  whom  in  our  mature  years  we  live  in  perfect  amity, 
but  who  in  our  childhood  appeared  to  us  bitter  enemies.  Chil- 
dren are  remarkably  helpless  in  this  respect,  because  they  can- 
not choose  their  company  and  surroundings  as  grown  people  can  ; 
and  are  sometimes  entirely  in  the  power  of  those  with  whom 
their  natures  are  so  unsympathetic  that  they  may  be  almost  said 
to  have  a  constitutional  aversion  to  them.  Aunt  Lois  was  such 
a  one  to  me,  principally  because  of  her  forecasting,  untiring, 
pertinacious,  care-taking  propensities.  She  had  already  looked 
over  my  lot  in  life,  and  set  down  in  her  own  mind  what  was  to 
be  done  with  me,  and  went  at  it  with  a  resolute  energy  that 
would  not  wait  for  the  slow  development  of  circumstances. 

That  I  should  want  to  study,  as  my  father  did,  —  that  I  should 
for  this  cause  hang  as  an  unpractical,  unproductive,  dead  weight 
on  the  family,  —  was  the  evil  which  she  saw  in  prospective, 
against  which  my  grandfather's  placid,  easy  temper,  and  my 
grandmother's  impulsive  bountifulness,  gave  her  no  security.  A 
11* 


250  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

student  in  the  family,  and  a  son  in  college,  she  felt  to  be  luxuries 
to  which  a  poor  widow  in  dependent  circumstances  had  no  right 
to  look  forward,  and  therefore  she  opened  the  subject  betimes, 
with  prompt  energy,  by  the  proposition  above  stated. 

My  mother,  who  sat  on  the  other  side  of  the  fireplace,  looked 
at  me  with  a  fluttering  look  of  apprehension.  I  flushed  up  in  a 
sort  of  rage  that  somehow  Aunt  Lois  always  succeeded  in  put- 
ting me  into.  "I  don't  want  to  be  a  shoemaker,  and  I  won't 
neither,"  I  said. 

"  Tut,  tut,"  said  my  grandfather,  placidly,  from  his  corner ; 
"  we  don't  let  little  boys  say  '  won't '  here." 

I  now  burst  out  crying,  and  ran  to  my  grandmother,  sobbing 
as  if  my  heart  would  break. 

"  Lois,  can't  you  let  this  boy  alone  ? "  said  my  grandmother, 
vengefully ;  "  I  do  wonder  at  you.  Poor  little  fellow  !  his  father 
ain't  quite  cold  in  his  grave  yet,  and  you  want  to  pitch  him  out 
into  the  world,"  —  and  my  grandmother  seized  me  in  her  strong 
arms,  and  lulled  me  against  her  ample  bosom.  "  There,  poor  boy, 
don't  you  cry  ;  you  sha'  n't,  no,  you  sha'  n't;  you  shall  stay  and 
help  grandma,  so  you  shall." 

"  Great  help  he  is,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  contemptuously ;  "  gets 
a  book  in  his  hand  and  goes  round  with  his  head  in  a  bag ; 
never  gives  a  message  right,  and  is  always  stumbling  over  things 
that  are  right  in  his  way.  There  's  Harry,  now,  is  as  handy  as  a 
girl,  and  if  he  says  he  '11  do  a  thing,  I  know  't  '11  be  done,"  —  and 
Aunt  Lois  illustrated  her  doctrine  by  calling  up  Harry,  and 
making  him  stretch  forth  his  arms  for  a  skein  of  blue-mixed 
yarn  which  she  was  going  to  wind.  The  fire-light  shone  full  on 
his  golden  curls  and  clear  blue  eyes,  as  he  stood  obediently  and 
carefully  yielding  to  Aunt  Lois's  quick,  positive  movements.  As 
she  wound,  and  twitched,  and  pulled,  with  certainly  twice  the 
energy  that  the  work  in  hand  required,  his  eyes  followed  her 
motions  with  a  sort  of  quiet  drollery  ;  there  was  a  still,  inward 
laugh  in  them,  as  if  she  amused  him  greatly. 

Such  open  comparisons  between  two  boys  might  have  gone 
far  to  destroy  incipient  friendship  ;  but  Harry  seemed  to  be  in  a 
wonderful  degree  gifted  with  the  faculties  that  made  him  a  uni- 


WHAT   IS    TO   BE   DOSE    WITH   THE   BOY?  251 

versa!  favorite.  All  the  elders  of  the  family  liked  him,  because 
he  was  quiet  and  obedient,  always  doing  with  cheerful  promptness 
exactly  what  he  was  bidden,  unless,  as  sometimes  happened  in  our 
family  circle,  he  was  bidden  to  do  two  or  three  different  things  at 
one  and  the  same  time,  when  he  wrould  stand  looking  innocently 
puzzled,  till  my  grandmother  and  Aunt  Lois  and  Aunt  Keziah 
had  settled  it  among  tliem  whose  was  to  be  the  ruling  will.  He 
was  deft  and  neat-handed  as  a  girl  about  any  little  offices  of  a 
domestic  nature  ;  he  was  thoughtful  and  exact  in  doing  errands ; 
he  was  delicately  clean  and  neat  in  his  personal  habits;  he 
never  tracked  Aunt  Lois's  newly  scoured  floor  with  the  traces 
of  unwiped  shoes  ;  he  never  left  shavings  and  litter  on  a  cleanly 
swept  hearth,  or  tumbled  and  deranged  anything,  so  that  he 
might  safely  be  trusted  on  errands  even  to  the  most  sacred  pre- 
cincts of  a  housekeeper's  dominions.  What  boy  with  all  these 
virtues  is  not  held  a  saint  by  all  women-folk  ?  Yet,  though  he 
was  frequently  commended  in  all  those  respects,  to  my  marked 
discredit,  Harry  was  to  me  a  sort  of  necessary  of  life.  There 
was  something  in  his  nature  that  was  wanting  to  mine,  and  I 
attached  myself  to  him  with  a  pertinacity  which  had  never 
before  marked  my  intercourse  with  any  boy. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  arrival  of  the  children,  the  minister  and 
Lady  Lothrop  had  called  on  my  grandmother  in  all  the  dignity 
of  their  station,  and  taken  an  approving  view  of  the  boy.  Lady 
Lothrop  had  engaged  to  take  him  under  her  care,  and  provide  a 
yearly  sum  for  his  clothing  and  education.  She  had  never  had  a 
child  of  her  own,  and  felt  that  diffidence  about  taking  the  entire 
charge  of  a  boy  which  would  be  natural  to  a  person  of  fastidious 
and  quiet  habits,  and  she  therefore  signified  that  it  would  be  more 
agreeable  to  her  if  my  grandmother  would  allow  him  to  make 
one  of  her  own  family  circle,  —  a  proposal  to  which  she  cheer- 
fully assented,  saying,  that  "  one  more  chick  makes  little  differ- 
ence to  an  old  hen." 

I  immediately  petitioned  that  I  might  have  Harry  for  a  bed- 
fellow, and  iie  and  I  were  allowed  a  small  bedroom  to  ourselves 
at  the  head  of  the  back  stairs.  It  was  a  rude  little  crib,  roughly 
fenced  off  from  the  passage-way  by  unplaned  boards  of  different 


252  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

heights.  A  pine  table,  two  stools,  a  small  trundle-bed,  and  a 
rude  case  of  drawers,  were  all  its  furniture.  Harry's  love  of 
order  was  strikingly  manifest  in  the  care  which  he  took  of  this 
little  apartment.  His  few  articles  of  clothing  and  personal  be- 
longings all  had  their  exact  place,  and  always  were  bestowed 
there  with  scrupulous  regularity.  He  would  adjust  the  fur- 
niture, straighten  the  bed-clothing,  and  quietly  place  and  replace 
the  things  that  I  in  my  fitful,  nervous  eagerness  was  always 
disarranging ;  and  when,  as  often  happened  in  one  of  my  spasms 
of  enthusiasm,  I  turned  everything  in  the  room  topsy-turvy, 
searching  for  something  I  had  lost,  or  projecting  some  new  ar- 
rangement, he  would  wait  peaceably  till  I  had  finished,  and 
then  noiselessly  get  everything  back  again  into  its  former  order. 
He  never  quarrelled  with  me,  or  thwarted  me  in  my  turbulent  or 
impatient  moods,  but  seemed  to  wait  for  me  to  get  through  what- 
ever I  was  doing,  when  he  would  come  in  and  silently  rearrange. 
He  was,  on  the  whole,  a  singularly  silent  child,  but  with  the  kind 
of  silence  which  gives  a  sense  of  companionship.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  he  was  always  intensely  observant  and  interested  in 
whatever  was  going  on  before  him,  and  ready  at  any  moment  to 
take  a  friendly  part  when  he  was  wanted ;  but  for  the  most  part 
his  place  in  the  world  seemed  that  of  an  amused  listener  and 
observer.  Life  seemed  to  present  itself  to  him  as  a  curious  spec- 
tacle, and  he  was  never  tired  of  looking  and  listening,  watching 
the  ways  and  words  of  all  our  family  circle,  and  often  smiling  to 
himself  as  if  they  afforded  him  great  diversion.  Aunt  Lois, 
with  her  quick,  sharp  movements,  her  determined,  outspoken 
ways,  seemed  to  amuse  him  as  much  as  she  irritated  me,  and  I 
would  sometimes  see  him  turn  away  with  a  droll  smile  when  he 
had  been  watching  one  of  her  emphatic  courses  round  the  room. 
He  had  a  certain  tact  in  avoiding  all  the  sharp  corners  and 
angles  of  her  character,  which,  in  connection  with  his  handiness 
and  his  orderly  ways,  caused  him  at  last  to  become  a  prime 
favorite  with  her.  With  his  quiet  serviceableness  and  manual 
dexterity,  he  seemed  to  be  always  the  one  that  was  exactly  want- 
ing to  do  an  odd  turn,  so  that  at  last  he  came  to  be  depended  on 
for  many  little  inferior  offices,  which  he  rendered  with  a  good- 
will none  the  less  cheerful  because  of  his  silence. 


WHAT  IS  TO  BE  DONE   WITH   THE  BOY?  253 

"  There  's  time  enough  to  think  about  what  Horace  is  to  do 
another  year,"  said  my  grandfather,  having  reflected  some  mo- 
ments after  the  passage  of  arms  between  my  grandmother  and 
Aunt  Lois.  "  He 's  got  to  have .  some  schooling.  The  boys  had 
both  better  go  to  school  for  this  winter,  and  then  we  '11  see 
what  next." 

"  Well,  I  just  mentioned  about  Ebal  Scran,  because  he  's  a 
good  man  to  take  a  boy,  and  he  wants  one  now.  If  we  don't 
take  that  chance  it  may  not  come  again." 

"  Wai,  Miss  Lois,"  said  Sam  Lawson,  who  had  sat  silent  in  a 
dark  corner  of  the  chimney,  "  ef  I  was  to  say  about  Horace, 
I  'd  say  he  'd  do  better  for  somethin'  else  'n  shoemakin'.  He 's 
the  most  amazin'  little  fellow  to  read  I  ever  see.  As  much  as  a 
year  ago  Jake  Marshall  and  me  and  the  other  fellers  round  to 
the  store  used  to  like  to  get  him  to  read  the  Columbian  Sentinel 
to  us ;  he  did  it  off  slicker  than  any  on  us  could,  he  did,  —  there 
wa'  n't  no  kind  o'  word  could  stop  him.  I  should  say  such  a 
boy  as  that  ought  to  have  a  liberal  education." 

"  And  who 's  going  to  pay  for  it  ? "  said  Au»t  Lois,  turning 
round  on  him  sharply.  "  I  suppose  you  know  it  costs  something 
to  get  a  man  through  college.  We  never  can  afford  to  send  him 
to  college.  It 's  all  we  can  do  to  bring  his  Uncle  Bill  through." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  there  's  no  use  worrying 
the  child,  one  way  or  the  other." 

"They  can  both  go  to  district  school  this  winter,"  said  my 
grandfather. 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  the  other  day  I  found  him  down  in 
a  corner  humping  his  back  out  over  a  Latin  grammar  that  I'd 
put  away  with  all  the  rest  of  his  father's  books  on  the  back  side 
of  the  upper  shelf  in  our  closet,  and  I  took  it  away  from  him. 
If  he  was  going  to  college,  why,  it 's  well  enough  to  study  for  it ; 
but  if  he  is  n't  we  don't  want  him  idlin'  round  with  scraps  of 
Latin  in  his  head  like  old  Jock  Twitchel,  —  got  just  Latin  enough 
to  make  a  fool  of  his  English,  and  he  's  neither  one  thing  nor 
another." 

"  I  do  wonder,  Lois,  what  there  is  under  the  sun  that  you  don't 
feel  called  to  see  to,"  said  my  grandmother.  "  What  do  you  want 


254  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

to  quarrel  with  the  child  for  ?  He  shall  have  his  Latin  grammar 
if  he  wants  it,  and  any  of  the  rest  of  his  father's  books,  poor 
child.  I  s'pose  he  likes  'em  because  they  were  his  poor  father's." 

I  leaped  for  joy  in  my  grandmother's  lap,  for  my  father's  pre- 
cious books  had  been  in  a  state  of  blockade  ever  since  we  had 
been  in  the  house,  and  it  was  only  by  putting  a  chair  on  a  table 
one  day,  when  Aunt  Lois  and  my  mother  were  out,  that  I  had 
managed  to  help  myself  to  the  Latin  grammar,  out  of  which  my 
father  had  begun  to  teach  me  before  he  died. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  at  any  rate  it 's  eight  o'clock, 
and  time  these  boys  went  to  bed." 

Upon  this  hint  Harry  and  I  went  to  our  little  bedroom  without 
the  ceremony  of  a  candle.  It  was  a  frosty  autumn  night,  but  a 
good,  clear  square  of  moonlight  lay  on  the  floor. 

Now  Harry,  in  common  with  many  other  very  quiet-natured 
people,  was  remarkable  for  a  peculiar  persistency  in  all  his  ways 
and  manners.  Ever  since  I  had  roomed  with  him,  I  had  noticed 
with  a  kind  of  silent  wonder  the  regularity  of  his  nightly  devo- 
tional exercises,  to  which  he  always  addressed  himself  before  he 
went  to  bed,  with  an  appearance  of  simple  and  absorbed  fervor, 
kneeling  down  by  the  bed,  and  speaking  in  a  low,  earnest  tone  of 
voice,  never  seeming  to  hurry  or  to  abbreviate,  as  I  was  always 
inclined  to  do  whenever  I  attempted  similar  performances.  In 
fact,  as  usually  I  said  no  prayers  at  all,  there  was  often  an  awk- 
ward pause  and  stillness  on  my  part,  while  I  watched  and  waited 
for  Harry  to  be  through  with  his  devotions,  so  that  I  might  re- 
sume the  thread  of  worldly  conversation. 

Now  to  me  the  perseverance  with  which  he  performed  these 
nightly  exercises  was  unaccountable.  The  doctrines  which  in 
that  day  had  been  gaining  ground  in  New  England,  with  regard 
to  the  utter  inutility  and  unacceptableness  of  any  prayers  or  re- 
ligious doings  of  the  unregencrate,  had  borne  their' legitimate  fruits 
in  causing  parents  to  become  less  and  less  particular  in  cultivat- 
ing early  habits  of  devotion  in  children ;  and  so,  when  I  had  a 
room  to  myself,  my  mother  had  ceased  to  take  any  oversight  of 
my  religious  exercises ;  and  as  I  had  overheard  my  Aunt  Lois 
maintaining  very  stringently  that  there  was  no  use  in  it  so  long 


WHAT  IS   TO   BE  DONE  WITH   THE  BOY?  255 

as  my  heart  was  not  changed,  I  very  soon  dropped  the  form. 
So,  when  night  after  night  I  noticed  Harry  going  on  with  his  de- 
votions, it  seemed  to  me,  from  my  more  worldly  point  of  view, 
that  he  gave  himself  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  trouble,  partic- 
ularly if,  after  all,  his  prayers  did  no  good.  I  thought  I  would 
speak  with  him  about  it,  and  accordingly  this  night  I  said  to  him, 
"  Harry,  do  you  think  it  does  any  good  to  say  your  prayers  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  do,"  he  said. 

"  But  if  your  heart  has  n't  been  changed,  your  prayer  is  an 
abomination  to  the  Lord.  Aunt  Lois  says  so,"  I  said,  repeating 
a  Scriptural  form  I  had  often  heard  quoted. 

Harry  turned  over,  and  in  the  fading  daylight  I  saw  his  eyes, 
large,  clear,  and  tranquil.  There  was  not  the  sHadow  of  a  cloud 
in  them.  "  I  don't  know  anything  about  that,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  You  see  I  don't  believe  that  sort  of  talk.  God  is  our  Father ;  he 
loves  us.  If  we  want  things,  and  ask  him  for  them,  he  will 
give  them  to  us  if  it  is  best ;  mother  always  told  me  so,  and  I 
find  it  is  so.  I  promised  her  always  to  say  these  prayers,  and  to 
believe  that  God  loves  us.  I  always  shall." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so,  Harry  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Why,  yes  ;  to  be  sure  I  do." 

"  I  mean,  do  you  ever  ask  God  for  things  you  want  ?  I  don't 
mean  saying  prayers,  but  asking  for  anything." 

"  Of  course  I  do.  I  always  have,  and  he  gives  them  to  me. 
He  always  has  taken  care  of  me,  and  he  always  will." 

"  Now,  Harry,"  said  I,  "  I  want  to  go  to  college,  and  Aunt 
Lois  says  there  is  n't  any  money  to  send  me  there.  She  wants 
mother  to  bind  me  out  to  a  shoemaker ;  and  I  'd  rather  die  than 
do  that,  I  love  to  study,  and  I  mean  to  learn.  Now  do  you 
suppose  if  I  ask  God  he  will  help  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly  he  will,"  said  Harry,  with  an  incredible  firmness 
and  quietness  of  manner.  "  Just  you  try  it." 

"  Don't  you  want  to  study  and  go  to  college  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Certainly  I  do.  I  ask  God  every  night  that  I  may  if  it  is 
lest"  he  said  with  simplicity. 

"  It  will  be  a  great  deal  harder  for  you  than  for  me,"  I  said, 
"  because  you  have  n't  any  relations." 


256  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

"  Yes,  but  God  can  do  anything  he  pleases,"  said  Harry,  with 
a  sort  of  energetic  simplicity. 

The  confidence  expressed  in  his  manner  produced  a  kind  of 
effect  upon  me.  I  had  urgent  needs,  too,  —  longings  which  I 
was  utterly  helpless  ever  to  fulfil,  —  particularly  that  visionary 
desire  to  go  to  college  and  get  an  education.  "  Harry,"  I  said, 
"  you  ask  God  that  I  may  go  to  college." 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  he  answered,  — "  I  '11  ask  every  night.  But 
then,"  he  added,  turning  over  and  looking  at  me,  "  why  don't  you 
ask  yourself,  Horace  ?  " 

It  was  difficult  for  me  to  answer  that  question.  I  think  that 
the  differences  among  human  beings  in  the  natural  power  of 
faith  are  as  gretot  as  any  other  constitutional  diversity,  and  that 
they  begin  in  childhood.  Some  are  born  believers,  and  some  are 
born  sceptics.  I  was  one  of  the  latter.  There  was  an  eternal 
query,  —  an  habitual  interrogation-point  to  almost  every  proposi- 
tion in  my  mind,  even  from  childhood,  —  a  habit  of  looking  at 
everything  from  so  many  sides,  that  it  was  difficult  to  get  a  settled 
assent  to  anything. 

Perhaps  the  curious  kind  of  double  life  that  I  led  confirmed 
this  sceptical  tendency.  I  was  certain  that  I  constantly  saw  and 
felt  things,  the  assertion  of  whose  existence  as  I  saw  them  drew 
down  on  me  stinging  reproofs  and  radical  doubts  of  my  veracity. 
This  led  me  to  .distrust  my  own  perceptions  on  all  subjects,  for  I 
was  no  less  certain  of  what  I  saw  and  felt  in  the  spiritual  world 
than  of  what  I  saw  and  felt  in  the  material ;  and,  if  I  could  be 
utterly  mistaken  in  the  one,  I  could  also  be  in  the  other. 

The  repression  and  silence  about  this  which  became  the  habit 
of  my  life  formed  a  covering  for  a  constant  wondering  inquiry. 
The  habit  of  reserve  on  these  subjects  had  become  so  intense, 
that  even  to  Harry  I  never  spoke  of  it.  I  think  I  loved  Harry 
more  than  I  loved  anything ;  in  fact,  before  he  came  to  us,  I  do 
not  think  I  knew  anything  of  love  as  a  sentiment.  My  devotion 
to  my  father  resembled  the  blind,  instinctive  worship  of  a  dog  for 
his  master.  My  feeling  toward  my  mother  and  grandmother 
was  that  impulse  of  want  that  induces  a  chicken  to  run  to  a  hen 
in  any  of  its  little  straits.  It  was  an  animal  instinct,  —  a  com- 
merce of  helplessness  with  help. 


WHAT  IS  TO  BE  DONE  WITH  THE  BOY?  257 

For  Harry  I  felt  a  sort  of  rudimentary,  poetical  tenderness, 
like  the  love  of  man  for  woman.  I  admired  his  clear  blue  eyes, 
his  curling  golden  hair,  his  fair,  pure  complexion,  his  refined  and 
quiet  habits,  and  a  sort  of  unconsciousness  of  self  that  there  was 
about  him.  His  simplicity  of  nature  was  incorruptible;  he 
seemed  always  to  speak,  without  disguise,  exactly  what  he 
thought,  without  the  least  apparent  consideration  of  anything  but 
its  truth ;  and  this  gave  him  a  strange  air  of  innocency.  A  sort 
of  quaint  humor  always  bubbling  up  in  little  quiet  looks  and 
ways,  and  in  harmless  practical  jokes,  gave  me  a  constant  sense 
of  amusement  in  his  society. 

As  the  reader  may  have  observed,  we  were  a  sharp-cut  and 
peculiar  set  in  our  house,  and  sometimes,  when  the  varied 
scenes  of  family  life  below  stairs  had  amused  Harry  more  than 
common,  he  would,  after  we  had  got  into  our  chamber  by  our- 
selves, break  into  a  sudden  flow  of  mimicry,  —  imitating  now 
Aunt  Lois's  sharp,  incisive  movements  and  decided  tones,  or  flying 
about  like  my  venerated  grandmother  in  her  most  confused  and 
hurried  moments,  or  presenting  a  perfect  image  of  Uncle  Flia- 
kim's  frisky  gyrations,  till  he  would  set  me  into  roars  of  laugh- 
ter; when  he  would  turn  gravely  round  and  ask  what  I  was 
laughing  at.  He  never  mentioned  a  name,  or  made  remarks 
about  the  persons  indicated,  —  the  sole  reflection  on  them  was 
the  absurd  truthfulness  of  his  imitation ;  and  when  I  would  call 
out  the  name  he  would  look  at  me  with  eyes  brimful  of  mischief, 
but  in  utter  silence. 

Generally  speaking,  his  language  was  characterized  by  a  pecu- 
liar nicety  in  the  selection  of  words,  and  an  avoidance  of  clownish 
or  vulgar  phraseology,  and  was  such  as  marks  a  child  whose  early 
years  have  all  been  passed  in  the  intercourse  of  refined  society ;  but 
sometimes  he  would  absurdly  introduce  into  his  conversation  scraps 
from  Sam  Lawson's  vocabulary,  with  flashes  of  mimicry  of  his 
shambling  gait,  and  the  lanky  droop  of  his  hands;  yet  these 
shifting  flashes  of  imitation  were  the  only  comment  he  ever  made 
upon  him. 

After  Harry  began  to  share  my  apartment,  my  nightly  visions 
became  less  frequent,  because,  perhaps,  instead  of  lying  wide- 

Q 


258  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

awake  expecting  them,  I  had  him  to  talk  to.  Once  or  twice, 
indeed,  I  saw  standing  by  him,  after  he  had  fallen  asleep,  that 
same  woman  whose  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair  I  had  remarked 
when  we  were  lost  in  the  forest.  She  looked  down  on  him  with 
an  inexpressible  tenderness,  and  seemed  to  bless  him ;  and  I  used 
to  notice  that  he  spoke  oftener  of  his  mother  the  next  day,  and 
quoted  her  words  to  me  with  the  simple,  unquestioning  venera 
tion  which  he  always  showed  for  them. 

One  thing  about  Plarry  which  was  striking  to  me,  and  which 
he  possessed  in  common  with  many  still,  retiring  people,  was 
great  vigor  in  maintaining  his  individuality.  It  has  been  the 
experience  of  my  life  that  it  is  your  quiet  people  who,  above 
all  other  children  of  men,  are  set  in  their  ways  and  intense 
in  their  opinions.  Their  very  reserve  and  silence  are  a  fortifica- 
tion behind  which  all  their  peculiarities  grow  and  thrive  at  their 
leisure,  without  encountering  those  blows  and  shocks  which  ma- 
terially modify  more  outspoken  natures.  It  is  owing  to  the 
peculiar  power  of  quietness  that  one  sometimes  sees  characters 
fashioning  themselves  in  a  manner  the  least  to  be  expected  from 
the  circumstances  and  associates  which  surround  them.  As  a 
fair  white  lily  grows  up  out  of  the  bed  of  meadow  muck,  and, 
without  note  or  comment,  rejects  all  in  the  soil  that  is  alien  from 
her  being,  and  goes  on  fashioning  her  own  silver  cup  side  by  side 
with  weeds  that  are  drawing  coarser  nutriment  from  the  soil,  so 
we  often  see  a  refined  and  gentle  nature  by  some  singular  in- 
ternal force  unfolding  itself  by  its  own  laws,  and  confirming  itself 
in  its  own  beliefs,  as  wholly  different  from  all  that  surround  it  as 
is  the  lily  from  the  rag-weed.  There  are  persons,  in  fact,  who 
seem  to  grow  almost  wholly  from  within,  and  on  whom  the 
teachings,  the  doctrines,  and  the  opinions  of  those  around  them 
produce  little  or  no  impression. 

Harry  was  modest  in  his  bearing ;  he  never  put  forth  an 
opinion  opposed  to  those  around  him,  unless  a  special  question 
was  asked  him  ;  but,  even  from  early  childhood,  the  opinion  of  no 
human  being  seemed  to  have  much  power  to  modify  or  alter  cer- 
tain convictions  on  which  his  life  was  based. 

I  remember,  one  Sunday,  our  good  Parson  Lothrop  took  it  into 


WHAT  IS   TO   BE   DONE  WITH   THE  BOY?  259 

his  head  to  preach  one  of  those  cool,  philosophical  sermons  in 
which  certain  scholarly  and  rational  Christians  in  easy  worldly 
circumstances  seem  to  take  delight, — a  sort  of  preaching  which 
removes  the  providence  of  God  as  far  off  from  human  sympathy 
as  it  is  possible  to  be.  The  amount  of  the  matter  as  he  stated  it 
seemed  to  be,  that  the  Creator  had  devised  a  very  complicated 
and  thorough- working  machine,  which  he  had  wound  up  and  set 
going  ages  ago,  which  brought  out  results  with  the  undeviating 
accuracy  of  clock-work.  Of  course  there  was  the  declaration 
that  "  not  a  sparrow  falleth  to  the  ground  without  our  Father," 
and  that  "  the  very  hairs  of  our  head  are  numbered,"  standing 
square  across  his  way.  But  we  all  know  that  a  text  of  Scripture 
is  no  embarrassment  at  all  in  the  way  of  a  thorough-paced 
theologian,  when  he  has  a  favorite  idea  to  establish. 

These  declarations  were  explained  as  an  Oriental,  metaphorical 
way  of  stating  that  the  All-wise  had  started  a  grand  world- 
machine  on  general  laws  which  included  the  greatest  good  to  the 
least  of  his  creation. 

I  noticed  that  Harry  sat  gazing  at  him  with  clear,  wide-open 
eyes  and  that  fixed  attention  which  he  always  gave  to  any- 
thing of  a  religious  nature.  The  inference  that  I  drew  from  it 
was,  that  Harry  must  be  mistaken  in  his  confidence  in  prayer, 
and  that  the  kind  of  Fatherly  intervention  he  looked  for  and 
asked  for  in  his  affairs  was  out  of  the  question.  As  we  walked 
home  I  expected  him  to  say  something  about  it,  but  he  did  not. 
When  we  were  in  our  room  at  night,  and  he  had  finished  his 
prayers,  I  said,"  Harry,  did  you  notice  Dr.  Lothrop's  sermon?" 

"  Yes,  I  noticed  it,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  if  that  is  true,  what  good  does  it  do  to  pray  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  true,"  he  said,  simply. 

"  How  do  you  know  it  is  n't  ?  " 

"  O,  I  know  better,"  he  said. 

"  But,  Harry,  —  Dr.  Lothrop,  you  know,  —  why,  he  'a  the  min- 
ister," —  and  what  could  a  boy  of  that  day  say  more  ? 

"  He 's  mistaken  there,  though,"  said  Harry,  quietly,  as  he 
would  speak  of  a  man  who  denied  the  existence  of  the  sun  or 
loon.  He  was  too  positive  and  too  settled  to  be  in  any  frame  to 


260  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

argue  about  it,  and  the  whole  of  the  discourse,  which  had  seemed 
to  me  so  damaging  to  his  opinions,  melted  over  him  like  so  much 
moonshine.  He  fell  asleep  saying  to  himself,  "  The  Lord  is  my 
shepherd,  I  shall  not  want,"  and  I  lay  awake,  wondering  in  my 
own  mind  whether  this  was  the  way  to  live,  and,  if  it  were,  why 
my  grandmother  and  Aunt  Lois,  and  my  father  and  mother,  and 
all  the  good  people  I  had  ever  known,  had  so  many  troubles  and 
worries. 

Ages  ago,  in  the  green,  flowery  hollows  of  the  hills  of  Bethle- 
hem, a  young  shepherd  boy  took  this  view  of  life,  and  began  his 
days  singing,  "  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,  I  shall  not  want,"  and 
ended  them  by  saying,  "  Thou  hast  taught  me  from  my  youth  up, 
and  hitherto  have  I  declared  thy  wondrous  works  " ;  and  his  ten 
der  communings  with  an  unseen  Father  have  come  down  to  our 
days  as  witnesses  of  green  pastures  and  still  waters  to  be  found 
in  this  weary  work-a-day  world,  open  ever  to  those  who  are 
simple-hearted  enough  to  seek  them.  It  would  seem  to  be  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  the  child  of  an  ever-present 
Father  should  live  in  this  way,  —  that  weakness  and  ignorance, 
standing  within  call  and  reach  of  infinite  grace  and  strength, 
should  lay  hold  of  that  divine  helpfulness,  and  grow  to  it  and 
by  it,  as  the  vine  climbs  upon  the  rock ;  but  yet  such  lives  are 
the  exception  rather  than  the  rule,  even  among  the  good.  But 
the  absolute  faith  of  Harry's  mind  produced  about  him  an  atmos- 
phere of  composure  and  restfulness  which  was,  perhaps,  the 
strongest  attraction  that  drew  me  to  him.  I  was  naturally  ner- 
vous, sensitive,  excitable,  and  needed  the  repose  which  he  gave 
me.  His  quiet  belief  that  all  would  be  right  had  a  sort  of  effect 
on  me,  and,  although  I  did  not  fall  into  his  way  of  praying,  I  came 
to  have  great  confidence  in  it  for  him,  and  to  indulge  some  vague 
hopes  that  something  good  might  come  of  it  for  me. 


DAILY  LIVING  IN   OLDTOWN.  261 


CHAPTEE    XXII. 

DAILY    LIVING    IN     OLDTOWN. 

HENCEFORTH  my  story  must  be  a  cord  with  three  strands, 
inexplicably  intertwisted,  and  appearing  and  disappearing 
in  their  regular  intervals,  as  each  occupies  for  the  moment  the 
prominent  place.  And  this  threefold  cord  is  composed  of  my- 
self, Harry,  and  Tina.  To  show  how  the  peculiar  life  of  old 
Massachusetts  worked  upon  us,  and  determined  our  growth  and 
character  and  destinies,  is  a  theme  that  brings  in  many  per- 
sonages, many  subjects,  many  accessories.  It  is  strange  that  no 
human  being  grows  up  who  does  not  so  intertwist  in  his  growth 
the  whole  idea  and  spirit  of  his  day,  that  rightly  to  dissect  out  his 
history  would  require  one  to  cut  to  pieces  and  analyze  society, 
law,  religion,  the  metaphysics  and  the  morals  of  his  times ;  and, 
as  all  these  things  run  back  to  those  of  past  days,  the  problem 
is  still  further  complicated.  The  humblest  human  being  is  the 
sum  total  of  a  column  of  figures  which  go  back  through  centuries 
before  he  was  born. 

Old  Crab  Smith  and  Miss  Asphyxia,  if  their  biographies  were 
rightly  written,  would  be  found  to  be  the  result  and  out-come  of 
certain  moral  and  social  forces,  justly  to  discriminate  which 
might  puzzle  a  philosopher.  But  be  not  alarmed,  reader  ;  I  am 
not  going  to  puzzle  you,  but  to  return  in  the  briefest  time  possi- 
ble to  my  story. 

Harry  was  adopted  into  our  family  circle  early  in  the  autumn ; 
and,  after  much  discussion,  it  was  resolved  in  the  family  synod 
that  he  and  I  should  go  to  the  common  school  in  the  neighbor- 
hood that  winter,  and  out  of  school-hours  share  between  us  cer- 
tain family  tasks  or  "  chores,"  as  they  were  called  at  home. 

Our  daily  life  began  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  the 
tapping  of  Aunt  Lois's  imperative  heels  on  the  back  stairs,  and 
her  authoritative  rap  at  our  door,  dispelled  my  slumbers.  I  was 


262  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

never  mucli  of  a  sleeper ;  my  slumbers  at  best  were  light  and 
cat-like  ;  but  Harry  required  all  my  help  and  my  nervous  wake- 
fulness  to  get  him  to  open  his  drowsy  blue  eyes,  which  he  always 
did  with  the  most  perfectly  amiable  temper.  He  had  that  charm- 
ing gift  of  physical  good-humor  which  is  often  praised  as  a  vir- 
tue in  children  and  in  grown  people,  but  which  is  a  mere  condi- 
tion of  the  animal  nature.  We  all  know  that  there  are  good- 
natured  animals  and  irritable  animals,  —  that  the  cow  is  tranquil 
and  gentle,  and  the  hyena  snarly  and  fretful ;  but  we  never  think 
of  praising  and  rewarding  the  one,  or  punishing  the  other,  for  this 
obvious  conformation.  But  in  the  case  of  the  human  animal  it 
always  happens  that  he  <vho  has  the  good  luck  to  have  a  quiet, 
imperturbable  nature  has  also  the  further  good  luck  of  being 
praised  for  it  as  for  a  Christian  virtue,  while  he  who  has  the  ill 
fortune  to  be  born  with  irritable  nerves  has  the  further  ill  fortune 
of  being  always  considered  a  sinner  on  account  of  it. 

Nobody  that  has  not  suffered  from  such  causes  can  tell  the 
amount  of  torture  that  a  child  of  a  certain  nervous  formation  un- 
dergoes in  the  mere  process  of  getting  accustomed  to  his  body, 
to  the  physical  forces  of  life,  and  to  the  ways  and  doings  of  that 
world  of  grown-up  people  who  have  taken  possession  of  the 
earth  before  him,  and  are  using  it,  and  determined  to  go  on  using 
it,  for  their  own  behoof  and  convenience,  in  spite  of  his  childish 
efforts  to  push  in  his  little  individuality  and  seize  his  little  portion 
of  existence.  He  is  at  once  laid  hold  upon  by  the  older  majori- 
ty as  an  instrument  to  work  out  their  views  of  what  is  fit  and 
proper  for  himself  and  themselves ;  and  if  he  proves  a  hard-work- 
ing or  creaking  instrument,  has  the  further  capability  of  being 
rebuked  and  chastened  for  it. 

My  first  morning  feeling  was  generally  one  of  anger  at  the 
sound  of  Aunt  Lois's  heels,  worthy  soul !  I  have  lived  to  see  the 
day  when  the  tap  of  those  efficient  little  instruments  has  seemed 
to  me  a  most  praiseworthy  and  desirable  sound  ;  but  in  those  days 
they  seemed  only  to  be  the  reveille  by  which  I  was  awakened  to 
that  daily  battle  of  my  will  with  hers  which  formed  so  great  a 
feature  in  my  life.  It  imposed  in  the  first  place  the  necessity  of 
my  quitting  my  warm  bed  in  a  room  where  the  thermometer 


DAILY  LIVING   IK   OLDTOWN.  263 

must  have  stood  below  zero,  and  where  the  snow,  drifting  through 
the  loosely  framed  window,  often  lay  in  long  wreaths  on  the 
floor. 

As  Aunt  Lois  always  opened  the  door  and  set  in  a  lighted  can- 
dle, one  of  my  sinful  amusements  consisted  in  lying  and  admir- 
ing the  forest  of  glittering  frost-work  which  had  been  made  by 
our  breath  freezing  upon  the  threads  of  the  blanket.  I  some- 
times saw  rainbow  colors  in  this  frost-work,  and  went  off  into 
dreams  and  fancies  about  it,  which  ended  in  a  doze,  from  which 
I  was  awakened,  perhaps,  by  some  of  the  snow  from  the  floor 
rubbed  smartly  on  my  face,  and  the  words,  "  How  many  times 
must  you  be  called  ?  "  and  opened  my  eyes  to  the  vision  of  Aunt 
Lois  standing  over  me  indignant  and  admonitory. 

Then  I  would  wake  Harry.  We  would  spring  from  the  bed 
and  hurry  on  our  clothes,  buttoning  them  with  fingers  numb  with 
cold,  and  run  down  to  the  back  sink-room,  where,  in  water  that 
flew  off  in  icy  spatters,  we  performed  our  morning  ablutions,  re- 
freshing our  faces  and  hands  by  a  brisk  rub  upon  a  coarse  rolling- 
towel  of  brown  homespun  linen.  Then  with  mittens,  hats,  and 
comforters,  we  were  ready  to  turn  out  with  old  Cassar  to  the 
barn  to  help  him  fodder  the  cattle.  I  must  say  that,  when  it  came 
to  this,  on  the  whole  it  began  to  be  grand  fun  for  us.  As  Caesar 
went  ahead  of  us  with  his  snow-shovel,  we  plunged  laughing  and 
rolling  into  the  powdery  element,  with  which  we  plentifully  pelted 
him.  Arrived  at  the  barn  we  climbed,  like  cats,  upon  the  mow, 
whence  we  joyously  threw  down  enough  for  all  his  foddering 
purposes,  and  with  such  superabundant  good-will  in  our  efforts, 
that,  had  need  so  required,  we  would  have  stayed  all  day  and 
flung  off  all  the  hay  upon  the  mow ;  in  fact,  like  the  broomstick 
in  the  fable,  which  would  persist  in  bringing  water  without  rhyme 
or  reason,  so  we  overwhelmed  our  sable  friend  with  avalanches 
of  hay,  which  we  cast  down  upon  him  in  an  inconsiderate  fury  of 
usefulness,  and  out  of  which  we  laughed  to  see  him  tear  his  way, 
struggling,  gesticulating  and  remonstrating,  till  his  black  face 
shone  with  perspiration,  and  his  woolly  head  bristled  with  hay- 
seeds and  morsels  of  clover. 

Then  came  the  feeding  of  the  hens  and  chickens  and  other 


264  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

poultry,  a  work  in  which  we  especially  delighted,  going  alto- 
gether beyond  Cassar  in  our  largesses  of  corn,  and  requiring  a 
constant  interposition  of  his  authority  to  prevent  our  emptying 
the  crib  on  every  single  occasion. 

In  very  severe  weather  we  sometimes  found  hens  or  turkeys 
so  overcome  with  the  cold  as  to  require,  in  Caesar's  view,  hospital 
treatment.  This  awoke  our  sympathies,  and  stimulated  our  sense 
of  personal  importance,  and  we  were  never  so  happy  as  when 
trudging  back  through  the  snow,  following  Caesar  with  a  great 
cock-turkey  lying  languidly  over  his  shoulder  like  a  sick  baby,  his 
long  neck  drooping,  his  wattles,  erst  so  fiery  red  with  pride  and 
valor,  now  blue  and  despairing.  Great  on  such  occasions  were 
our  zeal  and  excitement,  as  the  cavalcade  burst  into  the  kitchen 
with  much  noise,  and  upturning  of  everything,  changing  Aunt 
Lois's  quiet  arrangements  into  an  impromptu  sanitary  commission. 
My  grandmother  bestirred  herself  promptly,  compounding  messes 
of  Indian-meal  enlivened  with  pepper-corns,  which  were  forced 
incontinently  down  the  long  throat,  and  which  in  due  time  acted 
as  a  restorative. 

A  turkey  treated  in  this  way  soon  recovered  his  wonted  pride 
of  demeanor,  and,  with  an  ingratitude  which  is  like  the  ways  of 
this  world,  would  be  ready  to  bully  my  grandmother  and  fly  at 
her  back  when  she  was  picking  up  chips,  and  charge  down  upon 
us  children  with  vociferous  gobblings,  the  very  first  warm  day 
afterwards.  Such  toils  as  these  before  breakfast  gave  a  zest  to 
the  smoking  hot  brown  bread,  the  beans  and  sausages,  which 
formed  our  morning  meal. 

The  great  abundance  of  food  in  our  New  England  life  is  one 
subject  quite  worthy  of  reflection,  if  we  consider  the  hardness  of 
the  soil,  the  extreme  severity  of  the  climate,  and  the  shortness  of 
the  growing  season  between  the  late  frosts  of  spring  and  those 
of  early  autumn.  But,  as  matter  of  fact,  good,  plain  food  was 
everywhere  in  New  England  so  plentiful,  that  at  the  day  I 
write  of  nobody  could  really  suffer  for  the  want  of  it.v  The 
theocracy  of  New  England  had  been  so  thoroughly  saturated 
with  the  humane  and  charitable  spirit  of  the  old  laws  of 
Moses,  in  which,  dealing  "  bread  to  the  hungry "  is  so  often 


DAILY  LIVING  IN   OLDTOWN.  265 

reiterated  and  enforced  as  foremost  among  human  duties,  that  no 
one  ever  thought  of  refusing  food  to  any  that  appeared  to 
need  it ;  and  a  traveller  might  have  walked  on  foot  from  one  end 
of  New  England  to  the  other,  as  sure  of  a  meal  in  its  season,  as 
he  was  that  he  saw  a  farm-house.  Even  if  there  was  now  and 
then  a  Nabal  like  Crab  Smith,  who,  from  a  native  viciousness, 
hated  to  do  kindness,  there  was  always  sure  to  be  in  his  family  an 
Abigail,  ashamed  of  his  baseness,  who  redeemed  the  credit  of 
the  house  by  a  surreptitious  practice  of  the  Christian  virtues. 

I  mention  all  this  because  it  strikes  me,  in  review  of  my 
childhood,  that,  although  far  from  wealth,  and  living  in  many 
respects  in  a  hard  and  rough  way,  I  remember  great  enjoyment 
in  that  part  of  our  physical  life  so  important  to  a  child,  —  the 
eating  and  drinking.  Our  bread,  to  be  sure,  was  the  black  com- 
pound of  rye  and  Indian  which  the  economy  of  Massachusetts 
then  made  the  common  form,  because  it  was  the  result  of  what 
could  be  most  easily  raised  on  her  hard  and  stony  soil ;  but  I  can 
inform  all  whom  it  may  concern  that  rye  and  Indian  bread 
smoking  hot,  on  a  cold  winter  morning,  together  with  savory 
sausages,  pork,  and  beans,  formed  a  breakfast  fit  for  a  king,  if  the 
king  had  earned  it  by  getting  up  in  a  cold  room,  washing  in  ice- 
water,  tumbling  through  snow-drifts,  and  foddering  cattle.  We 
partook  of  it  with  a  thorough  cheeriness ;  and  black  Caesar,  seated 
on  his  block  in  the  chimney-corner,  divided  his  rations  with  Bose, 
the  yellow  dog  of  our  establishment,  with  a  contentment  which 
it  was  pleasant  to  behold. 

After  breakfast  grandfather  conducted  family  prayers,  com- 
mencing always  by  reading  his  chapter  in  the  Bible.  He  read 
regularly  through  in  course,  as  was  the  custom  in  those  days, 
without  note,  comment,  or  explanation.  Among  the  many  in- 
sensible forces  which  formed  the  minds  of  New  England  children, 
was  this  constant,  daily  familiarity  with  the  letter  of  the  Bible. 
It  was  for  the  most  part  read  twice  a  day  in  every  family  of  any 
pretensions  to  respectability,  and  it  was  read  as  a  reading-book 
in  every  common  school,  —  in  both  cases  without  any  attempt  at 
explanation.  Such  parts  as  explained  themselves  were  left  to  do 
so.  Such  as  were  beyond  our  knowledge  were  still  read,  and 
12 


266  OLDTOWX  FOLKS. 

left  to  make  what  impression  they  would.  For  my  part,  I  am 
impatient  of  the  theory  of  those  who  think  that  nothing  that  is 
not  understood  makes  any  valuable  impression  on  the  mind  of  a 
child.  I  am  certain  that  the  constant  contact  of  the  Bible  with 
my  childish  mind  was  a  very  great  mental  stimulant,  as  it  certainly 
was  a  cause  of  a  singular  and  vague  pleasure.  The  wild,  poetic 
parts  of  the  prophecies,  with  their  bold  figures,  vivid  exclama- 
tions, and  strange  Oriental  names  and  images,  filled  me  with  a 
quaint  and  solemn  delight.  Just  as  a  child  brought  up  under  the 
shadow  of  the  great  cathedrals  of  the  Old  World,  wandering  into 
them  daily,  at  morning,  or  eventide,  beholding  the  many-colored 
windows  flamboyant  with  strange  legends  of  saints  and  angels, 
and  neither  understanding  the  legends,  nor  comprehending  the 
architecture,  is  yet  stilled  and  impressed,  till  the  old  minster 
grows  into  his  growth  and  fashions  his  nature,  so  this  wonderful 
old  cathedral  book  insensibly  wrought  a  sort  of  mystical  poetry 
into  the  otherwise  hard  and  sterile  life  of  New  England.  Its 
passionate  Oriental  phrases,  its  quaint,  pathetic  stories,  its  wild, 
transcendent  bursts  of  imagery,  fixed  an  indelible  mark  in  my 
imagination.  Where  Kedar  and  Tarshish  and  Pul  and  Lud, 
Chittim  and  the  Isles,  Dan  and  Beersheba,  were,  or  what  they 
were,  I  knew  not,  but  they  were  fixed  stations  in  my  realm 
of  cloud-land.  I  knew  them  as  well  as  I  knew  my  grand- 
mother's rocking-chair,  yet  the  habit  of  hearing  of  them  only 
in  solemn  tones,  and  in  the  readings  of  religious  hours,  gave 
to  them  a  mysterious  charm.  J  think  no  New-Englander,  brought 
up  under  the  regime  established  by  the  Puritans,  could  really 
estimate  how  much  of  himself  had  actually  been  formed  by  this 
constant  face-to-face  intimacy  with  Hebrew  literature.  It  is 
worthy  of  remark,  too,  that,  although  in  details  relating  to 
human  crime  and  vice,  the  Old  Bible  is  the  most  plain-spoken 
book  conceivable,  it  never  violated  the  chastity  of  a  child's 
mind,  or  stimulated  an  improper  curiosity.  I  have  been  aston- 
ished in  later  years  to  learn  the  real  meaning  of  passages  to 
which,  in  family  prayers,  I  listened  with  innocent  gravity. 

My  grandfather's  prayers  had  a  regular  daily  form,  to  which, 
in  time,  I  became  quite  accustomed.     No  man  of  not  more  than 


DAILY  LIVING  IN   OLDTOWN.  267 

ordinary  capacity  ever  ministered  twice  a  day  the  year  round,  in 
the  office  of  priest  to  his  family,  without  soon  learning  to  repeat 
the  same  ideas  in  the  same  phrases,  forming  to  himself  a  sort  of 
individual  liturgy.  My  grandfather  always  prayed  standing,  and 
the  image  of  his  mild,  silvery  head,  leaning  over  the  top  of  the 
high-backed  chair,  always  rises  before  me  as  I  think  of  early  days. 
There  was  no  great  warmth  or  fervor  in  these  daily  exercises,  but 
rather  a  serious  and  decorous  propriety.  They  were  Hebraistic 
in  their  form ;  they  spoke  of  Zion  and  Jerusalem,  of  the  God  of 
Israel,  the  God  of  Jacob,  as  much  as  if  my  grandfather  had  been 
a  veritable  Jew  ;  and  except  for  the  closing  phrase,  "  for  the 
sake  of  thy  Son,  our  Saviour,"  might  all  have  been  uttered  in 
Palestine  by  a  well-trained  Jew  in  the  time  of  David. 

When  prayers  were  over  every  morning,  the  first  move  of  the 
day,  announced  in  Aunt  Lois's  brief  energetic  phrases,  was  to 
"  get  the  boys  out  of  the  way."  Our  dinner  was  packed  in  a 
small  splint  basket,  and  we  were  started  on  our  way  to  the  dis- 
trict school,  about  a  mile  distant.  We  had  our  sleds  with  us,  — 
dear  winter  companions  of  boys,  —  not  the  gayly  painted,  genteel 
little  sledges  with  which  Boston  boys  in  these  days  enliven  the 
Common,  but  rude,  coarse  fabrics,  got  up  by  Caesar  in  rainy  days 
out  of  the  odds  and  ends  of  old  sleigh-runners  and  such  rough 
boards  as  he  could  rudely  fashion  with  saw  and  hatchet.  Such 
as  they  were,  they  suited  us  well,  —  mine  in  particular,  because 
upon  it  I  could  draw  Tina  to  school ;  for  already,  children  as  we 
were,  things  had  naturally  settled  themselves  between  us.  She 
was  supreme  mistress,  and  I  the  too  happy  slave,  only  anxious  to 
be  permitted  to  do  her  bidding.  With  Harry  and  me  she  as- 
sumed the  negligent  airs  of  a  little  empress.  She  gave  us  her 
books  to  carry,  called  on  us  to  tie  her  shoes,  charged  us  to  re- 
member her  errands,  got  us  to  learn  her  lessons  for  her,  and  to 
help  her  out  with  whatever  she  had  no  mind  to  labor  at ;  and  we 
were  only  too  happy  to  do  it.  Harry  was  the  most  doting  of 
brothers,  and  never  could  look  on  Tina  in  any  other  light  than  as 
one  whom  he  must  at  any  price  save  from  every  care  and  every 
exertion;  and  as  for  me,  I  never  dreamed  of  disputing  her 
supremacy. 


268  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

One  may,  perhaps,  wonder  how  a  person  so  extremely  aristo- 
cratic in  all  her  ideas  of  female  education  as  Miss  Mehitablc 
should  commit  her  little  charge  to  the  chance  comradeship  and 
unselect  society  of  the  district  school.  But  Miss  Mehitable,  like 
many  another  person  who  has  undertaken  the  task  of  bringing 
up  a  human  being,  found  herself  reduced  to  the  doing  of  a  great 
many  things  which  she  had  never  expected  to  do.  She  prepared 
for  her  work  in  the  most  thorough  manner ;  she  read  Locke  and 
Milton,  and  Dr.  Gregory's  "  Legacy  to  his  Daughter,"  and  Mrs. 
Chapone  on  the  bringing  up  of  girls,  to  say  nothing  of  Miss 
Hannah  More  and  all  the  other  wise  people  ;  and,  after  forming 
some  of  the  most  carefully  considered  and  select  plans  of  opera- 
tion for  herself  and  her  little  charge,  she  was  at  length  driven  to 
the  discovery  that  in  education,  as  in  all  other  things,  people  who 
cannot  do  as  they  would  must  do  as  they  can.  She  discovered 
that  a  woman  between  fifty  and  sixty  years  of  age,  of  a  peculiar 
nature,  and  with  very  fixed,  set  habits,  could  not  undertake  to 
be  the  sole  companion  and  educator  of  a  lively,  wilful,  spirited 
little  pilgrim  of  mortality,  who  was  as  active  as  a  squirrel, 
and  as  inconsequent  and  uncertain  in  all  her  movements  as  a 
butterfly. 

By  some  rare  good  fortune  of  nature  or  of  grace,  she  found 
her  little  protegee  already  able  to  read  with  fluency,  and  a  toler- 
able mistress  of  the  use  of  the  needle  and  thimble.  Thus  she  pos- 
sessed the  key  of  useful  knowledge  and  of  useful  feminine  practice. 
But  truth  compels  us  to  state  that  there  appeared  not  the  smallest 
prospect,  during  the  first  few  weeks  of  Miss  Mehitable's  educa- 
tional efforts,  that  she  would  ever  make  a  good  use  of  either. 
In  vain  Miss  Mehitable  had  written  a  nice  card,  marking  out 
regular  hours  for  sewing,  for  reading,  for  geography  and  grammar, 
with  suitable  intervals  of  amusement ;  and  in  vain  Miss  Tina, 
with  edifying  enthusiasm,  had  promised,  with  large  eyes  and 
most  abundant  eloquence,  and  with  many  overflowing  caresses, 
to  be  "  so  good."  Alas  !  when  it  came  to  carrying  out  the 
programme,  all  alone  in  the  old  house,  Mondays,  Tuesdays, 
Wednesdays,  Thursdays,  Fridays,  and  all  days,  Tina  gaped  and 
nestled,  and  lost  her  thimble  and  her  needle,  and  was  infinite 


DAILY  LIVING  IN   OLDTOWN.  269 

in  excuses,  and  infinite  in  wheedling  caresses,  and  arguments, 
enforced  with  flattering  kisses,  in  favor  of  putting  off  the  duties 
now  of  this  hour  and  then  of  that,  and  substituting  something 
more  to  her  fancy.  She  had  a  thousand  plans  of  her  own  for 
each  passing  hour,  and  no  end  of  argument  and  eloquence  to 
persuade  her  old  friend  to  follow  her  ways,  —  to  hear  her  read 
an  old  ballad  instead  of  applying  herself  to  her  arithmetic  lesson, 
or  listen  to  her  recital  of  something  that  she  had  just  picked  out 
of  English  history,  or  let  her  finish  a  drawing  that  she  was  just 
inspired  to  commence,  or  spend  a  bright,  sunny  hour  in  flower- 
gatherings  and  rambles  by  the  brown  river-side ;  whence  she 
would  return  laden  with  flowers,  and  fill  every  vase  in  the  old, 
silent  room  till  it  would  seem  as  if  the  wilderness  had  literally 
blossomed  as  the  rose.  Tina's  knack  for  the  arranging  of  vases 
and  twining  of  vines  and  sorting  of  wild-flowers  amounted  to  a 
species  of  genius  ;  and,  as  it  was  something  of  which  Miss 
Mehitable  had  not  the  slightest  comprehension,  the  child  took 
the  lead  in  this  matter  with  a  confident  assurance.  And,  after 
all,  the  effect  was  so  cheerful  and  so  delightful,  that  Miss  Mehit- 
able could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  call  to  the  mind  of  the  little 
wood-fairy  how  many  hours  these  cheerful  decorations  had  cost. 

Thus  poor  Miss  Mehitable  found  herself  daily  being  drawn,  by 
the  leash  that  held  this  gay  bird,  into  all  sorts  of  unseemly  gyra- 
tions and  wanderings,  instead  of  using  it  to  tether  the  bird  to  her 
own  well-considered  purposes.  She  could  not  deny  that  the 
child  was  making  her  old  days  pass  in  a  very  amusing  manner, 
and  it  was  so  much  easier  to  follow  the  lively  little  sprite  in  all 
her  airy  ways  and  caprices,  seeing  her  lively  and  spirited  and 
happy,  than  to  watch  the  ennui  and  the  yawns  and  the  rest- 
lessness that  came  over  her  with  every  effort  to  conform  to  the 
strict  letter  of  the  programme,  that  good  Miss  Mehitable  was 
always  yielding.  Every  night  she  went  to  bed  with  an  unquiet 
conscience,  sensible  that,  though  she  had  had  an  entertaining 
day,  she  had  been  letting  Tina  govern  her,  instead  of  governing 
Tina. 

Over  that  grave  supposed  necessity  of  governing  Tina,  this 
silent  woman  groaned  in  spirit  on  many  a  night  after  the 


270  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

little  wheedling  tongue  had  become  silent,  and  the  bright,  de- 
luding eyes  had  gone  down  under  their  fringy  lashes.  "The 
fact  is,"  said  the  sad  old  woman,  "Miss  Asphyxia  spoke  the 
truth.  It  is  a  fact,  I  am  not  fit  to  bring  up  a  child.  She 
does  rule  over  me,  just  as  she  said  she  would,  and  I  'in  a  poor 
old  fool ;  but  then,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  She  is  so  bright  and  sweet 
and  pretty,  and  I  'm  a  queer-looking,  dry,  odd  old  woman,  with 
nobody  to  love  me  if  she  does  n't.  If  I  cross  her  and  tie  her  to 
rules,  and  am  severe  with  her,  she  won't  love  me,  and  I  am  too 
selfish  to  risk  that.  Besides,  only  think  what  came  of  using 
severe  measures  with  poor  Emily !  people  can  be  spoilt  by  sever- 
ity just  as  much  as  by  indulgence,  and  more  hopelessly.  But 
what  shall  I  do?" 

Miss  Mehitable  at  first  had  some  hope  of  supporting  and 
backing  up  the  weaknesses  of  her  own  heart  by  having  recourse 
to  Polly's  well-known  energy.  Polly  was  a  veritable  dragon  of 
education,  and  strong  in  the  most  efficient  articles  of  faith. 
Children  must  have  their  wills  broken,  as  she  expressed  it, 
"short  off";  they  must  mind  the  very  first  time  you  speak; 
they  must  be  kept  under  and  made  to  go  according  to  rule,  and, 
if  they  swerved,  Polly  recommended  measures  of  most  sangui- 
nary severity. 

But  somehow  or  other  Tina  had  contrived  to  throw  over  this 
grimmest  and  most  Calvinistic  of  virgins  the  glamour  of  her  pres- 
ence, so  that  she  ruled,  reigned,  and  predominated  in  the  most 
awful  sanctuaries  of  Polly's  kitchen,  with  a  fearfully  unconcerned 
and  negligent  freedom.  She  dared  to  peep  into  her  yeast-jug  in 
the  very  moment  of  projection,  and  to  pinch  off  from  her  downy 
puffs  of  newly  raised  bread  sly  morsels  for  her  own  cooking  exper- 
iments ;  she  picked  from  Polly's  very  hand  the  raisins  which 
the  good  woman  was  stoning  for  the  most  awfully  sacred  elec- 
tion cake,  and  resolutely  persisted  in  hanging  on  her  chair  and 
chattering  in  her  ear  during  the  evolution  of  high  culinary  mys- 
teries with  which  the  Eleusinian,  or  any  other  heathen  trump- 
eries of  old,  were  not  to  be  named.  Had  n't  the  receipt  for  elec- 
tion cake  been  in  the  family  for  one  hundred  years  ?  and  was  not 
Polly  the  sacred  ark  and  tabernacle  in  which  that  divine  secret 


DAILY   LIVING   IN   OLDTOWX.  271 

resided  ?  Even  Miss  Mehitable  had  always  been  politely  re- 
quested to  step  out  of  the  kitchen  when  Polly  was  composing 
her  mind  for  this  serious  work,  but  yet  Tina  neglected  her  geog- 
raphy and  sewing  to  be  present,  chattered  all  the  time,  as  Polly 
remarked,  like  a  grist-mill,  tasted  the  sugar  and  spices,  and 
helped  herself  at  intervals  to  the  savory  composition  as  it  was 
gradually  being  put  together,  announcing  her  opinions,  and  giving 
Polly  her  advice,  with  an  effrontery  to  which  Polly's  submission 
was  something  appalling. 

It  really  used  to  seem  to  Miss  Mehitable,  as  she  listened  to 
Polly's  dissonant  shrieks  of  laughter  from  the  kitchen,  as  if  that 
venerable  old  girl  must  be  slightly  intoxicated.  Polly's  laughter 
was  in  truth  something  quite  formidable.  All  the  organs  in  her 
which  would  usually  be  employed  in  this  exercise  were  so  rusty 
for  want  of  use,  so  choked  up  with  theological  dust  and  debris, 
that  when  brought  into  exercise  they  had  a  wild,  grating,  disso- 
nant sound,  rather  calculated  to  alarm.  Miss  Mehitable  really 
wondered  if  this  could  be  the  same  Polly  of  whom  she  herself 
stood  in  a  certain  secret  awe,  whose  premises  she  never  invaded, 
and  whose  will  over  and  about  her  had  been  always  done  instead 
of  her  own  ;  but  if  she  ventured  to  open  the  kitchen  door  and  re- 
call Tina,  she  was  sure  to  be  vigorously  snubbed  by  Polly,  who 
walked  over  all  her  own  precepts  and  maxims  in  the  most 
shameless  and  astonishing  manner. 

Polly,  however,  made  up  for  her  own  compliances  by  heaping 
up  censures  on  poor  Miss  Mehitable  when  Tina  had  gone  to  bed 
at  night.  When  the  bright  eyes  were  fairly  closed,  and  the  lit- 
tle bewitching  voice  hushed  in  sleep,  Polly's  conscience  awoke 
like  an  armed  man,  and  she  atoned  for  her  own  sins  of  compli- 
ance and  indulgence  by  stringently  admonishing  Miss  Mehitable 
that  she  must  be  more  particular  about  that  child,  and  not  let  her 
get  her  own  head  so  much,  —  most  unblushingly  ignoring  her  own 
share  in  abetting  her  transgressions,  and  covering  her  own  espe- 
cial sins  under  the  declaration  that  "  she  never  had  undertaken  to 
bring  the  child  up,  —  she  had  to  get  along  with  her  the  best  way 
she  could,  —  but  the  child  never  would  make  anything  if  she 
was  let  to  go  on  so."  Yet,  in  any  particular  case  that  arose, 


272  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Polly  was  always  sure  to  go  over  to  Tina's  side  and  back  her 
usurpations. 

For  example,  it  is  to  be  confessed  that  Tina  never  could  or 
would  be  got  to  bed  at  those  hours  which  are  universally  ad- 
mitted to  be  canonical  for  well-brought-up  children.  As  night 
drew  on,  the  little  one's  tongue  ran  with  increasing  fluency,  and 
her  powers  of  entertainment  waxed  more  dizzy  and  dazzling; 
and  so,  oftentimes,  as  the  drizzling,  freezing  night  shut  in,  and 
the  wind  piped  and  howled  lonesomely  round  the  corners  of  the 
dusky  old  mansion,  neither  of  the  two  forlorn  women  could  find 
it  in  her  heart  to  extinguish  the  little  cheerful  candle  of  their 
dwelling  in  bed ;  and  so  she  was  to  them  ballet  and  opera  as  she 
sung  and  danced,  mimicked  the  dog,  mimicked  the  cat  and  the 
hens  and  the  torn-turkey,  and  at  last  talked  and  flew  about  the 
room  like  Aunt  Lois,  stirred  up  butter  and  pshawed  like  grand- 
ma, or  invented  imaginary  scenes  and  conversations,  or  impro- 
vised unheard-of  costumes  out  of  strange  old  things  she  had  rum- 
maged out  of  Miss  Mehitable's  dark  closets.  Neither  of  the  two 
worthy  women  had  ever  seen  the  smallest  kind  of  dramatic  rep- 
resentation, so  that  Tina's  histrionic  powers  fascinated  them  by 
touching  upon  dormant  faculties,  and  seemed  more  wonderful  for 
their  utter  novelty ;  and  more  than  once,  to  the  poignant  self-re- 
proach of  Miss  Mehitable,  and  Polly's  most  moral  indignation, 
nine  o'clock  struck,  in  the  inevitable  tones  of  the  old  family  time- 
piece, before  they  were  well  aware  what  they  were  doing.  Then 
Tina  would  be  hustled  off  to  bed,  and  Polly  would  preach  Miss 
Mehitable  a  strenuous  discourse  on  the  necessity  of  keeping  chil- 
dren to  regular  hours,  interspersed  with  fragments  of  quotations 
from  one  of  her  venerable  father's  early  sermons  on  the  Chris- 
tian bringing  up  of  households.  Polly  would  grow  inexorable  as 
conscience  on  these  occasions,  and  when  Miss  Mehitable  humbly 
pleaded  in  extenuation  how  charming  a  little  creature  it  was,  and 
what  a  pleasant  evening  she  had  given,  Polly  would  shake  her 
head,  and  declare  that  the  ways  of  sin  were  always  pleasant  for 
a  time,  but  at  the  last  it  would  "  bite  like  a  serpent  and  sting  like 
an  adder  " ;  and  when  Miss  Mehitable,  in  the  most  delicate  man- 
ner, would  insinuate  that  Polly  had  been  sharing  the  forbidden 


DAILY   LIVING  IN   OLDTOWN.  273 

fruit,  such  as  it  was,  Polly  would  flare  up  in  sudden  wrath,  and  de- 
clare that  "  everything  that  went  wrong  was  always  laid  to  her." 

In  consequence  of  this,  though  Miss  Mehitable  found  the  first 
few  weeks  with  her  little  charge  altogether  the  gayest  and  bright- 
est that  had  diversified  her  dreary  life,  yet  there  was  a  bitter 
sense  of  self-condemnation  and  perplexity  with  it  all.  One  day 
she  opened  her  mind  to  my  grandmother. 

"  Laws  a  massy !  don't  try  to  teach  her  yourself,"  said  that 
plain-spoken  old  individual,  —  "  send  her  to  school  with  the  boys. 
Children  have  to  go  in  droves.  What 's  the  use  of  fussing  with 
'em  all  day  ?  let  the  schoolmaster  take  a  part  of  the  care.  Chil- 
dren have  to  be  got  rid  of  sometimes,  and  we  come  to  them  all 
the  fresher  for  having  them  out  of  our  sight." 

The  consequence  was,  that  Tina  rode  to  school  on  our  sleds  in 
triumph,  and  made  more  fun,  and  did  more  mischief,  and  learned 
less,  and  was  more  adored  and  desired,  than  any  other  scholar  of 
us  all. 


12# 


274  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

WE   TAKE   A   STEP   UP   IN   THE    WORLD. 

ONE  of  my  most  vivid  childish  remembrances  is  the  length  of 
our  winters,  the  depth  of  the  snows,  the  raging  fury  of  the 
storms  that  used  to  whirl  over  the  old  farm-house,  shrieking  and 
piping  and  screaming  round  each  angle  and  corner,  and  thunder- 
ing down  the  chimney  in  a  way  that  used  to  threaten  to  topple 
all  down  before  it. 

The  one  great  central  kitchen  fire  was  the  only  means  of 
warming  known  in  the  house,  and  duly  at  nine  o'clock  every 
night  that  was  raked  up,  and  all  the  family  took  their  way  to  bed- 
chambers that  never  knew  a  fire,  where  the  very  sheets  and 
blankets  seemed  so  full  of  stinging  cold  air  that  they  made  one's 
fingers  tingle  ;  and  where,  after  getting  into  bed,  there  was  a  pro- 
longed shiver,  until  one's  own  internal  heat-giving  economy  had 
warmed  through  the  whole  icy  mass.  Delicate  people  had  these 
horrors  ameliorated  by  the  application  of  a  brass  warming-pan, 
—  an  article  of  high  respect  and  repute  in  those  days,  which 
the  modern  conveniences  for  warmth  in  our  houses  have  entirely 
banished. 

Then  came  the  sleet  storms,  when  the  trees  bent  and  creaked 
under  glittering  mail  of  ice,  and  every  sprig  and  spray  of  any 
kind  of  vegetation  was  reproduced  in  sparkling  crystals.  These 
were  cold  days  par  excellence,  when  everybody  talked  of  the 
weather  as  something  exciting  and  tremendous, — when  the  cider 
would  freeze  in  the  cellar,  and  the  bread  in  the  milk-room  would 
be  like  blocks  of  ice,  —  when  not  a  drop  of  water  could  be  got 
out  of  the  sealed  well,  and  the  very  chimney-back  over  the 
raked-up  fire  would  be  seen  in  the  morning  sparkling  with  a 
rime  of  frost  crystals.  How  the  sledges  used  to  squeak  over  the 
hard  snow,  and  the  breath  freeze  on  the  hair,  and  beard,  and 
woolly  comforters  around  the  necks  of  the  men,  as  one  and 


WE  TAKE   A  STEP   UP   IN  'THE   WORLD.  275 

another  brought  in  news  of  the  wondei-ful,  unheard-of  excesses 
of  Jack  Frost  during  the  foregone  night!  There  was  always 
something  exhilarating  about  those  extremely  cold  days,  when  a 
very  forest  of  logs,  heaped  up  and  burning  in  the  great  chimney, 
could  not  warm  the  other  side  of  the  kitchen  ;  and  when  Aunt 
Lois,  standing  with  her  back  so  near  the  blaze  as  to  be  uncom- 
fortably warm,  yet  found  her  dish-towel  freezing  in  her  hand, 
while  she  wiped  the  teacup  drawn  from  the  almost  boiling  water. 
When  things  got  to  this  point,  we  little  folks  were  jolly.  It  was 
an  excitement,  an  intoxication  ;  it  filled  life  full  of  talk.  People 
froze  the  tips  of  their  noses,  their  ears,  their  toes ;  we  froze  our 
own.  Whoever  touched  a  door-latch  incautiously,  in  the  early 
morning,  received  a  skinning  bite  from  Jack.  The  axe,  the  saw, 
the  hatchet,  all  the  iron  tools,  in  short,  were  possessed  of  a  cold 
devil  ready  to  snap  out  at  any  incautious  hand  that  meddled 
with  him.  What  ponderous  stalactites  of  ice  used  to  hang  from 
the  eaves,  and  hung  unmelted  days,  weeks,  and  months,  dripping 
a  little,  perhaps,  towards  noon,  but  hardening  again  as  night  came 
on !  and  how  long  all  this  lasted !  To  us  children  it  seemed 
ages. 

Then  came  April  with  here  and  there  a  sunny  day.  A 
bluebird  would  be  vaguely  spoken  of  as  having  appeared. 
Sam  Lawson  was  usually  the  first  to  announce  the  fact,  to  the 
sharp  and  sceptical  contempt  of  his  helpmeet. 

On  a  shimmering  April  morning,  with  a  half-mind  to  be  sun- 
shiny, Sam  sav/  Harry  and  myself  trotting  by  his  door,  and 
called  to  us  for  a  bit  of  gossip. 

"  Lordy  massy,  boys,  ain't  it  pleasant  ?  Why,  bless  your  soul 
and  body,  I  do  believe  spring 's  a  comin',  though  Hepsy  she 
won't  believe  it,"  he  said,  as  he  leaned  over  the  fence  contem- 
platively, with  the  axe  in  his  hand.  "  I  heard  a  bluebird  last 
week,  Jake  Marshall  and  me,  when  we  was  goin'  over  to  Hop- 
kinton  to  see  how  Ike  Saunders  is.  You  know  he  is  down  with 
the  measles.  I  went  over  to  offer  to  sit  up  with  him.  Where 
be  ye  goin'  this  mornin'  ?  " 

"  We  're  going  to  the  minister's.  Grandfather  is  n't  well,  and 
Lady  Lothrop  told  us  to  come  for  some  wine." 


276  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  Jes'  so,"  said  Sam.  "  Wai,  now,  he  orter  take  something  for 
his  stomach's  sake,  Scriptur'  goes  in  for  that.  A  little  good  hot 
spiced  wine,  it 's  jest  the  thing ;  and  Ma'am  Lothrop,  she  has  the 
very  best.  Why,  some  o'  that  'ere  wine  o'  hern  come  over  from 
England  years  ago,  when  her  fust  husband  was  living ;  and  he 
was  a  man  that  knew  where  to  get  his  things.  Wai,  you  must  n't 
stop  to  play ;  allers  remember  when  you  're  sent  on  errands  not 
to  be  a  idlin'  on  the  road." 

"  Sam  Lawson,  will  you  split  me  that  oven-wood  or  won't  you  ?  " 
said  a  smart,  cracking  voice,  as  the  door  flew  open  and  Hepsy's 
thin  face  and  snapping  black  eyes  appeared,  as  she  stood  with 
a  weird,  wiry,  sharp-visaged  baby  exalted  on  one  shoulder,  while 
in  the  other  hand  she  shook  a  dish-cloth. 

"  Lordy  massy,  Hepsy,  I  'm  splittin'  as  fast  as  I  can.  There, 
run  along,  boys  ;  don't  stop  to  play." 

We  ran  along,  for,  truth  to  say,  the  vision  of  Hepsy's  sharp 
features  always  quickened  our  speed,  and  we  heard  the  loud, 
high-pitched  storm  of  matrimonial  objurgation  long  after  we  had 
left  them  behind. 

Timidly  we  struck  the  great  knocker,  and  with  due  respect 
and  modesty  told  our  errand  to  the  black  doctor  of  divinity  who 
opened  the  door. 

"  I  '11  speak  to  Missis,"  he  said  ;  "  but  this  'ere  's  Missis'  great 
day ;  it 's  Good  Friday,  and  she  don't  come  out  of  her  room  the 
whole  blessed  day." 

"  But  she  sent  word  that  we  should  come,"  we  both  answered 
in  one  voice. 

"  Well,  you  jest  wait  here  while  I  go  up  and  see,"  —  and  the 
important  messenger  creaked  up  stairs  on  tiptoe  with  infinite 
precaution,  and  knocked  at  a  chamber  door. 

Now  there  was  something  in  all  this  reception  that  was  vaguely 
solemn  and  impressive  to  us.  The  minister's  house  of  itself  was 
a  dignified  and  august  place.  The  minister  was  in  our  minds 
great  and  greatly  to  be  feared,  and  to  be  had  in  reverence  of 
them  that  were  about  him.  The  minister's  wife  was  a  very  great 
lady,  who  wore  very  stiff  silks,  and  rode  in  a  coach,  and  had  no 
end  of  unknown  wealth  at  her  control,  so  ran  the  village  gossip. 


WE   TAKE  A   STEP   UP   IN   THE   WORLD.  277 

And  now  what  this  mysterious  Good  Friday  was,  and  why  the 
house  was  so  still,  and  why  the  black  doctor  of  divinity  tiptoed 
up  stairs  so  stealthily,  and  knocked  at  her  door  so  timidly,  we 
could  not  exactly  conjecture ;  —  it  was  all  of  a  piece  with  the  gen- 
eral marvellous  and  supernatural  character  of  the  whole  estab- 
lishment. 

We  heard  above  the  silvery  well-bred  tones  that  marked  Lady 
Lothrop. 

"  Tell  the  children  to  come  up." 

We  looked  at  each  other,  and  each  waited  a  moment  for  the 
other  to  lead  the  way ;  finally  I  took  the  lead,  and  Harry  fol- 
lowed. We  entered  a  bedroom  shaded  in  a  sombre  gloom  which 
seemed  to  our  childish  eyes  mysterious  and  impressive.  There 
were  three  windows  in  the  room,  but  the  shutters  were  closed, 
and  the  only  light  that  came  in  was  from  heart-shaped  apertures 
in  each  one.  There  was  in  one  corner  a  tall,  solemn-looking, 
high-post  bedstead  with  heavy  crimson  draperies.  There  were 
heavy  carved  bureaus  and  chairs  of  black,  solid  oak. 

At  a  table  covered  with  dark  cloth  sat  Lady  Lothrop,  dressed 
entirely  in  black,  with  a  great  Book  of  Common  Prayer  spread 
out  before  her.  The  light  from  the  heart-shaped  hole  streamed 
down  upon  this  prayer-book  in  a  sort  of  dusky  shaft,  and  I 
was  the  more  struck  and  impressed  because  it  was  not  an  ordinary 
volume,  but  a  great  folio  bound  in  parchment,  with  heavy  brass 
knobs  and  clasps,  printed  in  black-letter,  of  that  identical  old 
edition  first  prepared  in  King  Edward's  time,  and  appointed  to  be 
read  in  churches.  Its  very  unusual  and  antique  appearance 
impressed  me  with  a  kind  of  awe. 

There  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  a  tall,  full-length  mir- 
ror, which,  as  we  advanced,  duplicated  the  whole  scene,  giving 
back  faithfully  the  image  of  the  spare  figure  of  Lady  Lothrop, 
her  grave  and  serious  face,  and  the  strange  old  book  over  which 
she  seemed  to  be  bending,  with  a  dusky  gleaming  of  crimson 
draperies  in  the  background. 

"  Come  here,  my  children,"  she  said,  as  we  hesitated ;  "  how  is 
your  grandfather?" 

"  He  is  not  so  well  to-day ;  and  grandmamma  said  —  " 


278  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  know,"  she  said,  with  a  gentle  little  wave  of  the 
hand  ;  "  I  desired  that  you  might  be  sent  for  some  wine  ;  Porn- 
pey  shall  have  it  ready  for  you.  But  tell  me,  little  boys,  do  you 
know  what  day  this  is  ?  " 

"  It 's  Friday,  ma'am,"  said  I,  innocently. 

"  Yes,  my  child ;  but  do  you  know  what  Friday  it  is  ?  "  she  said. 

"  No,  ma'am,"  said  I,  faintly. 

"  Well,  my  child,  it  is  Good  Friday  ;  and  do  you  know  why  it 
is  called  Good  Friday  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  This  is  the  day  when  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ 
died  on  the  cross  for  our  salvation  ;  so  we  call  it  Good  Friday." 

I  must  confess  that  these  words  struck  me  with  a  strange  and 
blank  amazement.  That  there  had  been  in  this  world  a  personage 
called  "  Our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,"  I  had  learned  from 
the  repetition  of  his  name  as  the  usual  ending  of  prayers  at 
church  and  in  the  family ;  but  the  real  literal  fact  that  he  had 
lived  on  earth  had  never  presented  itself  to  me  in  any  definite 
form  before;  but  this  solemn  and  secluded  room,  this  sombre 
woman  shut  out  from  all  the  ordinary  ways  of  the  world,  de- 
voting the  day  to  lonely  musing,  gave  to  her  words  a  strange 
reality. 

«  When  did  he  die  ?  "  I  said. 

"  More  than  a  thousand  years  ago,"  she  answered. 

Insensibly  Harry  had  pressed  forward  till  he  stood  in  the  shaft 
of  light,  which  fell  upon  his  golden  curls,  and  his  large  blue  eyes 
now  had  that  wide-open,  absorbed  expression  with  which  he 
always  listened  to  anything  of  a  religious  nature,  and,  as  if 
speaking  involuntarily,  he  said  eagerly,  "  But  he  is  not  dead. 
He  is  living  ;  and  we  pray  to  him." 

"  Why,  yes,  my  son,"  said  Lady  Lothrop,  turning  and  looking 
with  pleased  surprise,  which  became  more  admiring  as  she  gazed, 
—  "  yes,  he  rose  from  the  dead." 

"  I  know.  Mother  told  me  all  about  that.  Day  after  to- 
morrow will  be  Easter  day,"  said  Harry ;  "  I  remember." 

A  bright  flush  of  pleased  expression  passed  over  Lady  Lothrop's 
face  as  she  said,  "  I  am  glad,  my  boy,  that  you  at  least  have  been 


WE  TAKE  A  STEP   UP   IN   THE   WORLD.  279 

taught.  Tell  me,  boys,"  she  said  at  last,  graciously,  "should 
you  like  to  go  with  me  in  my  carriage  to  Easter  Sunday,  in 
Boston?" 

Had  a  good  fairy  offered  to  take  us  on  the  rainbow  to  the  pal- 
ace of  the  sunset,  the  offer  could  not  have  seemed  more  un- 
worldly and  dream-like.  What  Easter  Sunday  was  I  had  not 
the  faintest  idea,  but  I  felt  it  to  be  something  vague,  strange,  and 
remotely  suggestive  of  the  supernatural. 

Harry,  however,  stood  the  thing  in  the  simple,  solemn,  gen- 
tlemanlike way  which  was  habitual  with  him. 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am,  I  shall  be  very  happy,  if  grandmamma  is 
willing." 

It  will  be  seen  that  Harry  slid  into  the  adoptive  familiarity 
which  made  my  grandmother  his,  with  the  easy  good  faith  of 
childhood. 

"  Tell  your  grandmamma  if  she  is  willing  I  shall  call  for  you 
in  my  coach  to-morrow,"  —  and  we  were  graciously  dismissed. 

"We  ran  home  in  all  haste  with  our  bottle  of  wine,  and  burst 
into  the  kitchen,  communicating  our  message  both  at  once  to 
Aunt  Lois  and  Aunt  Keziah.  The  two  women  looked  at  each 
other  mysteriously;  there  was  a  slight  flush  on  Aunt  Lois's 
keen,  spare  face. 

"  Well,  if  she 's  a  mind  to  do  it,  Kezzy,  I  don't  see  how  we 
can  refuse." 

"  Mother  never  would  consent  in  the  world,"  said  Aunt  Keziah. 

"Mother  must"  said  Aunt  Lois,  with  decision.  "We  can't 
afford  to  offend  Lady  Lothrop,  with  both  these  boys  on  our 
hands.  Besides,  now  father  is  sick,  what  a  mercy  to  have  'em 
both  out  of  the  house  for  a  Sunday ! " 

Aunt  Lois  spoke  this  with  an  intensive  earnestness  that  deep- 
ened my  already  strong  convictions  that  we  boys  were  a  daily 
load  upon  her  life,  only  endured  by  a  high  and  protracted  exer- 
cise of  Christian  fortitude. 

She  rose  and  tapped  briskly  into  the  bedroom  where  my 
grandmother  was  sitting  reading  by  my  grandfather's  bed.  I 
heard  her  making  some  rapid  statements  in  a  subdued,  impera- 
tive tone.  There  were  a  few  moments  of  a  sort  of  suppressed, 


280  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

earnest  hum  of  conversation,  and  soon  we  heard  sundry  vehe- 
ment interjections  from  my  grandmother,  —  "Good  Friday!  — 
Easter !  —  pish,  Lois !  —  don't  tell  me  !  —  old  cast-off  rags  of  the 
scarlet  woman,  —  nothing  else. 

'  Abhor  the  arrant  whore  of  Kome. 
And  all  her  blasphemies ; 
Drink  not  of  her  accursed  cup, 
Obey  not  her  decrees.'  " 

"  Now,  mother,  how  absurd ! "  I  heard  Aunt  Lois  say.  "Who  's 
talking  about  Rome  ?  I  'm  sure,  if  Dr.  Lothrop  can  allow  it,  we 
can.  It 's  all  nonsense  to  talk  so.  We  don't  want  to  offend 
our  minister's  wife ;  we  must  do  the  things  that  make  for  peace  " ; 
and  then  the  humming  went  on  for  a  few  moments  more  and 
more  earnestly,  till  finally  we  heard  grandmother  break  out :  — 

"  Well,  well,  have  it  your  own  way,  Lois,  —  you  always  did 
and  always  will,  I  suppose.  Glad  the  boys  '11  have  a  holiday,  any- 
how. She  means  well,  I  dare  say,  —  thinks  she  's  doing  right." 

I  must  say  that  this  was  a  favorite  formula  with  which  my 
grandmother  generally  let  herself  down  from  the  high  .platform 
of  her  own  sharply  defined  opinions  to  the  level  of  Christian 
charity  with  her  neighbors. 

"  Who  is  the  whore  of  Rome  ?  "  said  Harry  to  me,  confiden- 
tially, when  we  had  gone  to  our  room  to  make  ready  for  our 
jaunt  the  next  day. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  "  said  I.  "  Why,  it 's  the  one  that  burnt 
John  Rogers,  in  the  Catechism.  I  can  show  it  to  you";  and, 
forthwith  producing  from  my  small  stock  of  books  my  New  Eng- 
land Primer,  I  called  his  attention  to  the  picture  of  Mr.  John 
Rogers  in  gown  and  bands,  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  brisk  and 
voluminous  coil  of  fire  and  smoke,  over  which  an  executioner, 
with  a  supernatural  broadaxe  upon  his  shoulders,  seemed  to  pre- 
side with  grim  satisfaction.  There  was  a  woman  with  a  baby  in 
her  arms  and  nine  children  at  her  side,  who  stood  in  a  row,  each 
head  being  just  a  step  lower  than  the  preceding,  so  that  they 
made  a  regular  flight  of  stairs.  The  artist  had  represented  the 
mother  and  all  the  children  with  a  sort  of  round  bundle  on  each 
of  their  heads,  of  about  the  same  size  as  the  head  itself,  —  a 


WE   TAKE  A   STEP   UP   IN  THE   WOELD.  281 

thing  which  I  always  interpreted  as  a  further  device  of  the 
enemy  in  putting  stones  on  their  heads  to  crush  them  down ; 
and  I  pointed  it  out  to  Harry  as  an  aggravating  feature  of  the 
martyrdom. 

"  Did  the  whore  of  Rome  do  that  ?  "  said  Harry,  after  a  few 
moments'  reflection. 

"Yes,  she  did,  and  it  tells  about  it  in  the  poetry  which  he 
wrote  here  to  his  children  the  night  before  his  execution  " ;  and 
forthwith  I  proceeded  to  read  to  Harry  that  whole  poetical  pro- 
duction, delighted  to  find  a  gap  in  his  education  which  I  was 
competent  to  fill.  We  were  both  wrought  up  into  a  highly  Prot- 
estant state  by  reading  this. 

"  Horace,"  said  Harry,  timidly,  "  she  would  n't  like  such  things, 
would  she  ?  she  is  such  a  good  woman." 

"  What,  Lady  Lothrop  ?  of  course  she 's  a  good  woman ;  else 
she  would  n't  be  our  minister's  wife." 

"  What  was  grandma  talking  about  ?  "  said  Harry. 

"  O,  I  don't  know  ;  grandmother  talks  about  a  great  many 
things,"  said  I.  "  At  any  rate,  we  shall  see  Boston,  and  I  Ve 
always  wanted  to  see  Boston.  Only  think,  Harry,  we  shall  go  in 
a  coach ! " 

This  projected  tour  to  Boston  was  a  glorification  of  us  chil- 
dren in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  family.  To  go,  on  the  humblest  of 
terms,  to  Boston,  —  but  to  be  taken  thither  in  Lady  Lothrop's 
coach,  to  be  trotted  in  magnificently  behind  her  fat  pair  of  car- 
riage-horses, —  that  was  a  good  fortune  second  only  to  translation. 

Boston  lay  at  an  easy  three  hours'  ride  from  Qldtown,  and  Lady 
Lothrop  had  signified  to  my  grandmother  that  we  were  to  be 
called  for  soon  after  dinner.  We  were  to  spend  the  night  and 
the  Sunday  following  at  the  house  of  Lady  Lothrop's  mother,  who 
slill  kept  the  old  family  mansion  at  the  north  end,  and  Lady 
Lothrop  was  graciously  pleased  to  add  that  she  would  keep  the 
children  over  Easter  Monday,  to  show  them  Boston.  Faithful 
old  soul,  she  never  omitted  the  opportunity  of  reminding  the 
gainsaying  community  among  whom  her  lot  was  cast  of  the  sol- 
emn days  of  her  church  and  for  one  /  have  remembered  Easter 
Sunday  and  Monday  to  this  day. 


282  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Our  good  fortune  received  its  crowning  stroke  in  our  eyes 
when,  running  over  to  Miss  Mehitable's  with  the  news,  we  found 
that  Lady  Lothrop  had  considerately  included  Tina  in  the  invi- 
tation. 

"Well,  she  must  like  children  better  than  I  do,"  was  Aunt 
Lois's  comment  upon  the  fact,  when  we  announced  it.  "  Now, 
boys,  mind  and  behave  yourselves  like  young  gentlemen,"  she 
added,  "  for  you  are  going  to  one  of  the  oldest  families  of  Bos- 
ton, among  real  genteel  people." 

"  They  're  Tories,  Lois,"  put  in  Aunt  Keziah,  apprehensively. 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  that  thing  's  over  and  gone  now,"  said 
Aunt  Lois,  "and  nobody  lays  it  up  against  the  Kitterys,  and 
everybody  knows  they  were  in  the  very  first  circles  in  Boston 
before  the  war,  and  connected  with  the  highest  people  in  Eng- 
land, so  it  was  quite  natural  they  should  be  Tories." 

"  I  should  n't  wonder  if  Lady  Widgery  should  be  there,"  said 
Aunt  Keziah,  musingly,  as  she  twitched  her  yarn;  "she  always 
used  to  come  to  Boston  about  this  time  o'  the  year." 

"  Very  likely  she  will,"  said  my  mother.  "  What  relation  is  she 
to  Lady  Lothrop  ?  " 

"  Why,  bless  me,  don't  you  know  ?  "  said  Aunt  Lois.  "  Why, 
she  was  Polly  Steadman,  and  sister  to  old  Ma'am  Kittery's  hus- 
band's first  wife.  She  was  second  wife  to  Sir  Thomas  ;  his  first 
wife  was  one  of  the  Keatons  of  Penshurst,  in  England ;  she  died 
while  Sir  Thomas  was  in  the  custom-house  ;  she  was  a  poor, 
sickly  thing.  Polly  was  a  great  beauty  in  her  day.  People  said 
he  admired  her  rather  too  much  before  his  wife  died,  but  I  don't 
know  how  that  was." 

"  I  wonder  what  folks  want  to  say  such  things  for,"  quoth  my 
grandmother.  "  I  hate  backbiters,  for  my  part." 

"  We  are  n't  backbiting,  mother.  I  only  said  how  the  story  ran. 
It  was  years  ago,  and  poor  Sir  Thomas  is  in  his  grave  long  ago." 

"  Then  you  might  let  him  rest  there,"  said  my  grandmother. 
"  Lady  Widgery  was  a  pleasant-spoken  woman,  I  remember." 

"  She 's  quite  an  invalid  now,  I  heard,"  said  Aunt  Lois.  "  Our 
Bill  was  calling  at  the  Kitterys'  the  other  day,  and  Miss  Deborah 
Kittery  spoke  of  expecting  Lady  Widgery.  The  Kitterys  have 


WE   TAKE   A   STEP    UP   IX   THE   WORLD.  288 

been  very  polite  to  Bill ;  they  've  invited  him  there  to  dinner 
once  or  twice  this  winter.  That  was  one  reason  why  I  thought  we 
ought  to  be  careful  how  we  treat  Lady  Lothrop's  invitation.  It 's 
entirely  through  her  influence  that  Bill  gets  these  attentions." 

"  I  don't  know  about  their  being  the  best  thing  for  him,"  said 
my  grandmother,  doubtfully. 

"  Mother,  how  can  you  talk  so  ?  What  can  be  better  than 
for  a  young  man  to  have  the  run  of  good  families  in  Boston  ?  " 
said  Aunt  Lois. 

"  I  'd  rather  see  him  have  intimacy  with  one  godly  minister 
of  old  times,"  said  my  grandmother. 

"  Well,  that 's  what  Bill  is  n't  likely  to  do,"  quoth  Aunt  Lois, 
with  a  slight  shade  of  impatience.  "  We  must  take  boys  as  we 
find  'em." 

"  I  have  n't  anything  against  Tories  or  Episcopalians,"  said 
my  grandmother  ;  "  but  they  ain't  our  sort  of  folks.  I  dare  say 
they  mean  as  well  as  they  know  how." 

"  Miss  Mehitable  visits  the  Kitterys  when  she  is  in  Boston," 
said  Aunt  Lois,  "  and  thinks  everything  of  them.  She  says 
that  Deborah  Kittery  is  a  very  smart,  intelligent  woman,  —  a 
woman  of  a  very  strong  mind." 

"  I  dare  say  they  're  well  enough,"  said  my  grandmother. 
"  I  'm  sure  I  wish  'em  well  with  all  my  heart." 

"  Now,  Horace,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  be  careful  you  don't  sniff, 
and  be  sure  and  wipe  your  shoes  on  the  mat  when  you  come  in, 
and  never  on  any  account  speak  a  word  unless  you  are  spoken  to. 
Little  "boys  should  be  seen  and  not  heard ;  and  be  very  careful 
you  never  touch  anything  you  see.  It  is  very  good  of  Lady 
Lothrop  to  be  willing  to  take  all  the  trouble  of  having  you  with 
her,  and  you  must  make  her  just  as  little  as  possible." 

I  mentally  resolved  to  reduce  myself  to  a  nonentity,  to  go 
out  of  existence,  as  it  were,  to  be  nobody  and  nowhere,  if  only 
I  might  escape  making  trouble. 

"  As  to  Harry,  he  is  always  a  good,  quiet  boy,  and  never 
touches  things,  or  forgets  to  wipe  his  shoes,"  said  my  aunt. 
"  I  'm  sure  he  will  behave  himself."  . 

My  mother  colored  slightly  at  this  undisguised  partiality  for 


284  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Harry,  but  she  was  too  much  under  Aunt  Lois's  discipline  to 
venture  a  word. 

"  Lordy  massy,  Mis'  Badger,  how  do  ye  all  do  ?  "  said  Sam 
Lawson,  this  moment  appearing  at  the  kitchen  door.  "  I  saw 
your  winders  so  bright,  I  thought  I  'd  jest  look  in  and  ask  after 
the  Deacon.  I  ben  into  Miss  Mehitable's,  and  there 's  Polly,  she 
telled  me  about  the  chillen  goin'  to  Boston  to-morrow.  Tiny, 
she  'B  jest  flying  round  and  round  like  a  lightning-bug,  most  out 
of  her  head,  she 's  so  tickled  ;  and  Polly,  she  was  a  i'nin'  up  her 
white  aprons  to  get  her  up  smart.  Polly,  she  says  it 's  all  pagan 
flummery  about  Easter,  but  she  's  glad  the  chillen  are  goin'  to 
have  the  holiday."  And  with  this  Sam  Lawson  seated  himself 
on  his  usual  evening  roost  in  the  corner,  next  to  black  Caesar, 
and  we  both  came  and  stood  by  his  knee. 

"  Wai,  boys,  now  you  're  goin'  among  real,  old-fashioned  gen- 
tility. Them  Kitterys  used  to  hold  their  heads  'mazin'  high  afore 
the  war,  and  they  've  managed  by  hook  and  crook  to  hold  on  to 
most  what  they  got,  and  now  by-gones  is  by-gones.  But  I  be- 
lieve they  don't  go  out  much,  or  go  into  company.  Old  Ma'am 
Kittery,  she 's  kind  o'  broke  up  about  her  son  that  was  killed  at 
the  Delaware." 

"  Fighting  on  the  wrong  side,  poor  woman,"  said  my  grand- 
mother. "  Well,  I  s'pose  he  thought  he  was  doing  right." 

"  Yes,  yeg,"  said  Sam,  "  there 's  all  sorts  o'  folks  go  to  make 
up  a  world,  and,  lordy  massy,  we  must  n't  be  hard  on  nobody ; 
can't  'spect  everybody  to  be  right  all  round  ;  it 's  what  I  tell 
Polly  when  she  sniffs-  at  Lady  Lothrop  keepin'  Christmas  and 
Easter  and  sich.  '  Lordy  massy,  Polly/  says  I,  l  if  she  reads 
her  Bible,  and  's  good  to  the  poor,  and  don't  speak  evil  o'  nobody, 
why,  let  her  have  her  Easter ;  what 's  the  harm  on 't  ?  '  But,  lordy 
massy  bless  your  soul  an'  body !  there  's  no  kind  o'  use  talkin'  to 
Polly.  She  fumed  away  there,  over  her  i'nin'  table  ;  she 
did  n't  believe  in  folks  that  read  their  prayers  out  o'  books ;  and 
then  she  hed  it  all  over  about  them  tew  thousan'  ministers  that 
was  all  turned  out  o'  the  church  in  one  day  in  old  King  Charles's 
time.  Now,  raily,  Mis'. Badger,  I  don't  see  why  Lady  Lothrop 
should  be  held  'sponsible  for  that  are,  if  she  is  'Piscopalian." 


WE  TAKE  A  STEP   UP  IN  THE  WORLD. 


285 


"  Well,  well,"  said  my  grandmother ;  "  they  did  turn  out  the 
very  best  men  in  England,  but  the  Lord  took  'em  for  seed  to 
plant  America  with.  But  no  wonder  we  feel  it :  burnt  children 
dread  the  fire.  I  've  nothing  against  Lady  Lothrop,  and  I  don't 
wish  evil  to  the  Episcopalians  nor  to  the  Tories.  There 's  good 
folks  among  'em  all,  and  '  the  Lord  kuoweth  them  that  are  his.' 
But  I  do  hope,  Horace,  that,  when  you  get  to  Boston,  you  will  go 
out  on  to  Copps  Hill  and  see  the  graves  of  the  Saints.  There 
are  the  men  that  I  want  my  children  to  remember.  You 
come  here,  and  let  me  read  you  about  them  in  my  '  Magnaly '  * 
here."  And  with  this  my  grandmother  produced  her  well-worn 
copy ;  and,  to  say  the  truth,  we  were  never  tired  of  hearing  what 
there  was  in  it.  What  legends,  wonderful  and  stirring,  of  the 
solemn  old  forest  life,  —  of  rights  with  the  Indians,  and  thrilling 
adventures,  and  captivities,  and  distresses,  —  of  encounters  with 
panthers  and  serpents,  and  other  wild  beasts,  which  made  our 
very  hair  stand  on  end!  Then  there  were  the  weird  witch- 
stories,  so  wonderfully  attested  ;  and  how  Mr.  Peter  So-and-so 
did  visibly  see,  when  crossing  a  river,  a  cat's  head  swimming  in 
front  of  the  boat,  and  the  tail  of  the  same  following  behind ;  and 
how  worthy  people  had  been  badgered  and  harassed  by  a  sudden 
friskiness  in  all  their  household  belongings,  in  a  manner  not  un- 
known in  our  modern  days.  Of  all  these  fascinating  legends  my 
grandmother  was  a  willing  communicator,  and  had,  to  match  them, 
numbers  of  corresponding  ones  from  her  own  personal  observa- 
tion and  experience ;  and  sometimes  Sam  Lawson  would  chime 
in  with  long-winded  legends,  which,  being  told  by  flickering  fire- 
light, with  the  wind  rumbling  and  tumbling  down  the  great  chim- 
ney, or  shrieking  and  yelling  and  piping  around  every  corner  of 
the  house,  like  an  army  of  fiends  trying  with  tooth  and  claw  to 
get  in  upon  us,  had  power  to  send  cold  chills  down  our  backs  in 
the  most  charming  manner. 

For  my  part,  I  had  not  the  slightest  fear  of  the  supernatural ; 
it  was  to  me  only  a  delightful  stimulant,  just  crisping  the  surface 
of  my  mind  with  a  pleasing  horror.  I  had  not  any  doubt  of  the 
stories  of  apparitions  related  by  Dr.  Cotton,  because  I  had  seen 

*  Dr.  Cotton  Mather's  «  Magnalia." 


286  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

so  many  of  them  myself;  and  I  did  not  doubt  that  many  of  the 
witnesses  who  testified  in  these  cases  really  did  see  what  they 
said  they  saw,  as  plainly  as  I  had  seen  similar  appearances. 
The  consideration  of  the  fact  that  there  really  are  people  in  whose 
lives  such  phenomena  are  of  frequent  occurrence  seems  to  have 
been  entirely  left  out  of  the  minds  of  those  who  have  endeav- 
ored to  explain  that  dark  passage  in  our  history. 

In  my  maturer  years  I  looked  upon  this  peculiarity  as  some- 
thing resulting  from  a  physical  idiosyncrasy,  and  I  have  supposed 
that  such  affections  may  become  at  times  epidemics  in  communi- 
ties, as  well  as  any  other  affection  of  the  brain  and  nervous  sys- 
tem. Whether  the  things  thus  discerned  have  an  objective  re- 
ality or  not,  has  been  one  of  those  questions  at  which,  all  my 
life,  the  interrogation  point  has  stood  unerased. 

On  this  evening,  however,  my  grandmother  thought  fit  to 
edify  us  by  copious  extracts  from  "The  Second  Part,  entituled 
Sepher-Jearinij  i.  e.  Liber  Deum  Timentium  ;  or,  Dead  Abels ;  — 
yet  speaking  and  spoken  of." 

The  lives  of  several  of  these  "  Dead  Abels  "  were  her  favorite 
reading,  and  to-night  she  designed  especially  to  fortify  our  minds 
with  their  biographies ;  so  she  gave  us  short  dips  and  extracts 
here  and  there  from  several  of  them,  as,  for  example :  "  Janus 
Nov.-Anglicus ;  or,  The  Life  of  Mr.  Samuel  Higginson " ;  — 
"  Cadmus  Americanus ;  or,  Life  of  Mr.  Charles  Chauncey  " ;  — 
"Cygnea  Cantio  ;  or,  The  Death  of  Mr.  John  Avery  " ;  —  "  Ful- 
gentius ;  or,  The  Life  of  Mr.  Richard  Mather";  and  "Elisha's 
Bones ;  or,  Life  of  Mr.  Henry  Whitefield." 

These  Latin  titles  stimulated  my  imagination  like  the  sound  of 
a  trumpet,  and  I  looked  them  out  diligently  in  my  father's  great 
dictionary,  and  sometimes  astonished  my  grandmother  by  telling 
'her  what  they  meant. 

In  fact,  I  was  sent  to  bed  that  night  thoroughly  fortified 
against  all  seductions  of  the  gay  and  worldly  society  into  which 
I  was  about  to  be  precipitated  ;  and  my  reader  will  see  that  there 
was  need  enough  of  this  preparation. 

All  these  various  conversations  in  regard  to  differences  of  re- 
ligion went  on  before  us  children  with  the  freedom  with  which 


WE   TAKE   A   STEP   UP   IN   THE   WORLD.  287 

older  people  generally  allow  themselves  to  go  on  in  the  presence 
of" the  little  non-combatants  of  life.  In  those  days,  when  utter 
silence  and  reserve  in  the  presence  of  elders  was  so  forcibly  in- 
culcated as  one  of  the  leading  virtues  of  childhood,  there  was  lit- 
tle calculation  made  for  the  effect  of  such  words  on  the  childish 
mind.  With  me  it  was  a  perfect  hazy  mist  of  wonder  and  bewil- 
derment ;  and  I  went  to  sleep  and  dreamed  that  John  Rogers  was 
burning  Lady  Lothrop  at  the  stake,  and  Polly,  as  executioner, 
presided  with  a  great  broadaxe  over  her  shoulder,  while  grand- 
mother, with  nine  small  children,  all  with  stone  bundles  on  their 
heads,  assisted  at  the  ceremony. 

Our  ride  to  Boston  was  performed  in  a  most  proper  and  edi- 
fying manner.  Lady  Lothrop  sat  erect  and  gracious  on  the  back 
seat,  and  placed  Harry,  for  whom  she  seemed  to  have  conceived  a 
special  affection,  by  her  side.  Tina  was  perched  on  the  knee  of 
my  lady's  maid,  a  starched,  prim  woman  who  had  grown  up  and 
dried  in  all  the  most  sacred  and  sanctified  essences  of  genteel 
propriety.  She  was  the  very  crispness  of  old-time  decorum, 
brought  up  to  order  herself  lowly  and  reverently  to  all  her  bet- 
ters, and  with  a  secret  conviction  that,  aside  from  Lady  Lothrop, 
the  whole  of  the  Oldtown  population  were  rather  low  Dissenters, 
whom  she  was  required  by  the  rules  of  Christian  propriety  to  be 
kind  to.  To  her  master,  as  having  been  honored  with  the  au- 
gust favor  of  her  mistress's  hand,  she  looked  up  with  respect, 
but  her  highest  mark  of  approbation  was  in  the  oft-repeated  burst 
which  came  from  her  heart  in  moments  of  confidential  enthusi- 
asm, —  "  Ah,  ma'am,  depend  upon  it,  master  is  a  churchman  in 
his  heart.  If  'e  'ad  only  'ad  the  good  fortune  to  be  born  in 
Hengland,  'e  would  'ave  been  a  bishop  !  " 

Tina  had  been  talked  to  and  schooled  rigorously  by  Miss 
Mehitable  as  to  propriety  of  manner  during  this  ride  ;  and,  as 
Miss  Mehitable  well  knew  what  a  chatterbox  she  was,  she  exacted 
from  her  a  solemn  promise  that  she  would  only  speak  when  she 
was  spoken  to.  Being  perched  in  Mrs.  Margery's  lap,  she  felt 
still  further  the  stringent  and  binding  power  of  that  atmosphere 
of  frosty  decorum  which  encircled  this  immaculate  waiting-maid. 
A  more  well-bred,  inoffensive,  reverential  little  trio  never  sur- 


288  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

rounded  a  lady  patroness ;  and  as  Lady  Lothrop  was  not  much 
of  a  talker,  and,  being  a  childless  woman,  had  none  of  those 
little  arts  of  drawing  out  children  which  the  maternal  instinct 
alone  teaches,  our  ride,  though  undoubtedly  a  matter  of  great  en- 
joyment, was  an  enjoyment  of  a  serious  and  even  awful  character. 
Lady  Lothrop  addressed  a  few  kind  inquiries  to  each  one  of  us 
in  turn,  to  which  we  each  of  us  replied,  and  then  the  conversa- 
tion fell  into  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Margery,  and  consisted  mainly 
in  precise  details  as  to  where  and  how  she  had  packed  her 
mistress's  Sunday  cap  and  velvet  dress  ;  in  doing  which  she 
evinced  the  great  fluency  and  fertility  of  language  with  which 
women  of  her  class  are  gifted  on  the  one  subject  of  their  souls. 
Mrs.  Margery  felt  as  if  the  Sunday  cap  of  the  only  supporter  of 
the  true  Church  in  the  dark  and  heathen  parish  of  Oldtown  was 
a  subject  not  to  be  lightly  or  unadvisedly  considered  ;  and,  there- 
fore, she  told  at  great  length  how  she  had  intended  to  pack  it 
first  all  together,  —  how  she  had  altered  her  mind  and  taken  off 
the  bow,  and  packed  that  in  a  little  box  by  itself,  and  laid  the 
strings  out  flat  in  the  box, —  what  difficulties  had  met  her  in  fold- 
ing the  velvet  dress,  —  and  how  she  had  at  first  laid  it  on  top  of 
the  trunk,  but  had  decided  at  last  that  the  black  lutestring  might 
go  on  top  of  that,  because  it  was  so  much  lighter,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

Lady  Lothrop  was  so  much  accustomed  to  this  species  of 
monologue,  that  it  is  quite  doubtful  if  she  heard  a  word  of  it ; 
but  poor  Tina,  who  felt  within  herself  whole  worlds  of  things  to 
say,  from  the  various  objects  upon  the  road,  of  which  she  was 
dying  to  talk  and  ask  questions,  wriggled  and  twisted  upon  Mrs. 
Margery's  knee,  and  finally  gave  utterance  to  her  pent-up  feel- 
ings in  deep  sighs. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  little  dear  ?  "  said  Lady  Lothrop. 

"  O  dear !  I  was  just  wishing  I  could  go  to  church." 

"  Well,  you  are  going  to-morrow,  dear." 

"  I  just  wish  I  could  go  now  to  say  one  prayer." 

"  And  what  is  that,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  I  just  want  to  say,  '  O  Lord,  open  thou  my  lips,'  said  Tina, 
with  effusion. 

Lady  Lothrop  smiled  with  an  air  of  innocent  surprise,  and 
Mrs.  Margery  winked  over  the  little  head. 


WE  TAKE  A    STEP   UP   IN   THE   WORLD.  28 § 

"  I  'm  50  tired  of  not  talking ! "  said  Tina,  pathetically ;  "  but  I 
promised  Miss  Mehitable  I  would  n't  speak  unless  I  was  spoken 
to,"  she  added,  with  an  air  of  virtuous  resolution. 

"  Why,  my  little  dear,  you  may  talk,"  said  Lady  Lothrop.  "  It 
won't  disturb  me  at  all.  Tell  us  now  about  anything  that  inter- 
ests you." 

"  O,  thank  you  ever  so  much,"  said  Tina ;  and  from  this 
moment,  as  a  little  elfin  butterfly  bursts  from  a  cold,  gray 
chrysalis,  Tina  rattled  and  chattered  and  sparkled,  and  went  on 
with  verve  and  gusto  that  quite  waked  us  all  up.  Lady  Lothrop 
and  Mrs.  Margery  soon  found  themselves  laughing  with  a 
heartiness  which  surprised  themselves ;  and,  the  icy  chains  of 
silence  being  once  broken,  we  all  talked,  almost  forgetting  in 
whose  presence  we  were.  Lady  Lothrop  looked  from  one  to 
another  in  a  sort  of  pleased  and  innocent  surprise.  Her  still, 
childless,  decorous  life  covered  and  concealed  many  mute  feminine 
instincts  which  now  rose  at  the  voice  and  touch  of  childhood ; 
and  sometimes  in  the  course  of  our  gambols  she  would  sigh, 
perhaps  thinking  of  her  own  childless  hearth. 


1.3 


290  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

WE     BEHOLD     GRANDEUR. 

IT  was  just  at  dusk  that  our  carriage  stood  before  the  door  of 
a  respectable  mansion  at  the  north  end  of  Boston. 

I  remember  our  alighting  and  passing  through  a  wide  hall 
with  a  dark  oaken  staircase,  into  a  low-studded  parlor,  lighted 
by  the  blaze  of  a  fire  of  hickory  logs,  which  threw  out  tongues 
of  yellow  flame,  and  winked  at  itself  with  a  thousand  fanciful 
flashes,  in  the  crinkles  and  angles  of  a  singularly  high  and 
mighty  pair  of  brass  andirons. 

A  lovely,  peaceful  old  lady,  whose  silvery  white  hair  and  black 
dress  were  the  most  striking  features  of  the  picture,  kissed  Lady 
Lothrop,  and  then  came  to  us  with  a  perfect  outgush  of  motherly 
kindness.  "  Why,  the  poor  little  dears  !  the  little  darlings  ! "  she 
said,  as  she  began  with  her  trembling  fingers  to  undo  Tina's  bonnet- 
strings.  "  Did  they  want  to  come  to  Boston  and  see  the  great 
city  ?  Well,  they  should.  They  must  be  cold  ;  there,  put  them 
close  by  the  fire,  and  grandma  will  get  them  a  nice  cake  pretty 
soon.  Here,  I  '11  hold  the  little  lady,"  she  said,  as  she  put  Tina 
on  her  knee. 

The  child  nestled  her  head  down  on  her  bosom  as  lovingly  and 
confidingly  as  if  she  had  known  her  all  her  days.  "  Poor  babe," 
said  the  old  lady  to  Lady  Lothrop,  "  who  could  have  had  a  heart  to 
desert  such  a  child  ?  and  this  is  the  boy,"  she  said,  drawing 
Harry  to  her  and  looking  tenderly  at  him.  "  Well,  a  father  of 
the  fatherless  is  God  in  his  holy  habitation."  There  was  some- 
thing even  grand  about  the  fervor  of  this  sentence  as  she  uttered 
it,  and  Tina  put  up  her  hand  with  a  caressing  gesture  around  the 
withered  old  neck. 

"  Debby,  get  these  poor  children  a  cake,"  said  the  lady  to  a 
brisk,  energetic,  rather  high-stepping  individual,  who  now  entered 
the  apartment. 


WE   BEHOLD   GRAXDKUK.  291 

"  Come  now,  mother,  do  let  it  rest  till  supper-tiine.  If  we  let 
you  alone,  you  would  murder  all  the  children  in  your  neighbor- 
hood with  cake  and  sugar-plums  ;  you  'd  be  as  bad  as  King 
Herod." 

Miss  Debby  was  a  well-preserved,  up-and-down,  positive, 
cheery,  sprightly  maiden  lady  of  an  age  lying  somewhere  in  the 
indeterminate  region  between  forty  and  sixty.  There  was  a 
positive,  brusque  way  about  all  her  movements,  and  she  ad- 
vanced to  the  fire,  rearranged  the  wood,  picked  up  stray  brands, 
and  whisked  up  the  coals  with  a  brush,  and  then,  seating  herself 
bolt  upright,  took  up  the  business  of  making  our  acquaintance  in 
the  most  precise  and  systematic  manner. 

"  So  this  is  Master  Horace  Holyoke.     How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  ?> 

As  previously  directed,  I  made  my  best  bow  with  anxious 
politeness. 

"  And  this  is  Master  Harry  Percival,  is  it  ?  "  Harry  did  the 
same. 

"  And  this,"  she  added,  turning  to  Tina,  "  is  Miss  Tina  Perci- 
val, I  understand  ?  Well,  we  are  very  happy  to  see  good  little 
children  in  this  house  always."  There  was  a  rather  severe  em- 
phasis on  the  good,  which,  together  with  the  somewhat  martial 
and  disciplinary  air  which  invested  all  Miss  Deborah's  words  and 
actions,  was  calculated  to  strike  children  with  a  wholesome  awe. 

Our  resolution  "  to  be  very  good  indeed  "  received  an  imme- 
diate accession  of  strength.     At  this  moment  a  serving-maid  ap- 
peared at  the  door,  and,  with  eyes  cast  down,  and  a  stiff,  respect 
ful  courtesy,  conveyed  the  information,  "  If  you  please,  ma'am, 
tea  is  ready." 

This  humble,  self-abased  figure  —  the  utter  air  of  self-abnega- 
tion with  which  the  domestic  seemed  to  intimate  that,  unless 
her  mistress  pleased,  tea  was  not  ready,  and  that  everything  in 
creation  was  to  be  either  ready  or  not  ready  according  to  her 
sovereign  will  and  good  pleasure  —  was  to  us  children  a  new 
lesson  in  decorum. 

"Go  tell  Lady  Widgery  that  tea  is  served,"  said  Miss 
Deborah,  in  a  loud,  resounding  voice.  "  Tell  her  that  we  will 
wait  her  ladyship's  convenience." 


292  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

The  humble  serving-maid  courtesied,  and  closed  the  door  softly 
with  reverential  awe.  On  the  whole,  the  impression  upon  our 
minds  was  deeply  solemn  ;  we  were  about  to  see  her  ladyship. 

Lady  Widgery  was  the  last  rose  of  summer  of  the  departed 
aristocracy.  Lady  Lothrop's  title  was  only  by  courtesy;  but  Sir 
Thomas  Widgery  was  a  live  baronet ;  and  as  there  were  to  be 
no  more  of  these  splendid  dispensations  in  America,  one  may 
fancy  the  tenderness  with  which  old  Tory  families  cherished  the 
last  lingering  remnants. 

The  door  was  soon  opened  again,  and  a  bundle  of  black  silk 
appeared,  with  a  pale,  thin  face  looking  out  of  it.  There  was  to 
be  seen  the  glitter  of  a  pair  of  sharp,  black  eyes,  and  the  shim- 
mer of  a  thin  white  hand  with  a  diamond  ring  upon  it.  These 
were  the  items  that  made  up  Lady  Widgery,  as  she  dawned 
upon  our  childish  vision. 

Lest  the  reader  should  conceive  any  false  hopes  or  impres- 
sions, I  may  as  well  say  that  it  turned  out,  on  further  acquaint- 
ance, that  these  items  were  about  all  there  was  of  Lady  Widgery. 
It  was  one  of  the  cases  where  Nature  had  picked  up  a  very  in- 
different and  commonplace  soul,  and  shut  it  up  in  a  very  intelli- 
gent-looking body.  From  her  youth  up,  Lady  Widgery's 
principal  attraction  consisted  in  looking  as  if  there  was  a  great 
deal  more  in  her  than  there  really  was.  Her  eyes  were  spar- 
kling and  bright,  and  had  a  habit  of  looking  at  things  in  this  world 
with  keen,  shrewd  glances,  as  if  she  were  thinking  about  them 
to  some  purpose,  which  she  never  was.  Sometimes  they  were 
tender  and  beseeching,  and  led  her  distracted  admirers  to  feel  as 
if  she  were  melting  with  emotions  that  she  never  dreamed  of. 
Thus  Lady  Widgery  had  always  been  rushed  for  and  contended 
for  by  the  other  sex ;  and  one  husband  had  hardly  time  to  be  cold  in 
his  grave  before  the  air  was  filled  with  the  rivalry  of  candidates 
to  her  hand ;  and  after  all  the  beautiful  little  hoax  had  nothing 
for  it  but  her  attractive  soul-case.  In  her  old  age  she  still  looked 
elegant,  shrewd,  and  keen,  and  undeniably  high-bred,  and  carried 
about  her  the  prestige  of  rank  and  beauty.  Otherwise  she  was 
a  little  dry -bundle  of  old  prejudices,  of  faded  recollections  of 
past  conquests  and  gayeties,  and  weakly  concerned  about  her  own 


WE  BEHOLD   GEANDEUR.  293 

health,  which,  in  her  view  and  that  of  everybody  about  her,  ap- 
peared a  most  sacred  subject.  She  had  a  somewhat  entertaining 
manner  of  rehearsing  the  gossip  and  scandals  of  the  last  forty 
years,  and  was,  so  far  as  such  a  person  could  be,  religious  :  that 
is  to  say,  she  kept  all  the  feasts  and  fasts  of  the  Church  scrupu- 
lously. She  had,  in  a  weakly  way,  a  sense  of  some  responsibility 
in  this  matter,  because  she  was  Lady  Widgery,  and  because  in- 
fidelity was  prevailing  in  the  land,  and  it  became  Lady  Widgery 
to  cast  her  influence  against  it,  Therefore  it  was  that,  even  at 
the  risk  of  her  precious  life,  as  she  thought,  she  had  felt  it  im- 
perative to  come  to  Boston  to  celebrate  Easter  Sunday. 

When  she  entered  the  room  there  was  an  immediate  bustle  of 
welcome.  Lady  Lothrop  ran  up  to  her,  saluting  her  with  an 
appearance  of  great  fondness,  mingled,  I  thought,  with  a  sort  of 
extreme  deference.  Miss  Deborah  was  pressing  in  her  attentions. 
"  Will  you  sit  a  moment  before  tea  to  get  your  feet  warm,  or 
will  you  go  out  at  once  ?  The  dining-room  is  quite  warm." 

Lady  Widgery's  feet  were  quite  warm,  and  everybody  was  so 
glad  to  hear  it,  that  we  were  filled  with  wonder. 

Then  she  turned  and  fixed  her  keen,  dark  eyes  on  us,  as  if  she 
were  reading  our  very  destiny,  and  asked  who  we  were.  We 
were  all  presented  circumstantially,  and  the  brilliant  eyes  seemed 
to  look  through  us  shrewdly,  as  we  made  our  bows  and  courtesies. 
One  would  have  thought  that  she  was  studying  us  with  a  deep  in- 
terest, which  was  not  the  case. 

We  were  now  marshalled  out  to  the  tea-table,  where  we  children 
had  our  plates  put  in  a  row  together,  and  were  waited  on  with 
obsequious  civility  by  Mrs.  Margery  and  another  equally  starched 
and  decorous .  female,  who  was  the  attendant  of  Lady  Widgery. 
We  stood  at  our  places  a  moment,  while  the  lovely  old  lady,  rais- 
ing her  trembling  hand,  pronounced  the  words  of  the  customary 
grace :  "  For  what  we  are  now  about  to  receive,  the  Lord  make 
us  truly  thankful."  Her  voice  trembled  as  she  spoke,  and  some- 
how the  impression  of  fragility  and  sanctity  that  she  made  on  me 
awoke  in  me  a  sort  of  tender  awe.  When  the  blessing  was  over, 
the  maids  seated  us,  and  I  had  leisure  to  notice  the  entirely  new 
scene  about  me. 


294  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

It  was  all  conducted  with  an  inexpressible  stateliness  of  pro- 
priety, and,  in  an  undefined  way,  the  impression  was  produced 
upon  ray  mind  that  the  frail,  shivery,  rather  thin  and  withered 
little  being,  enveloped  in  a  tangle  of  black  silk  wraps,  was  some- 
thing inexpressibly  sacred  and  sublime.  Miss  Deborah  waited 
on  her  constantly,  pressingly,  energetically  ;  and  the  dear,  sweet 
old  white-haired  lady  tended  her  with  obsequiousness,  which, 
like  everything  else  that  she  did,  was  lost  in  lovingness ;  and 
Lady  Lothrop,  to  me  the  most  awe-inspiring  of  the  female  race, 
paled  her  ineffectual  fires,  and  bowed  her  sacred  head  to  the 
rustling  little  black  silk  bundle,  in  a  way  that  made  me  inwardly 
wonder.  The  whole  scene  was  so  different  from  the  wide,  rough, 
noisy,  free-and-easy  democracy  of  my  grandmother's  kitchen, 
that  I  felt  crusted  all  over  with  an  indefinite  stiffness  of  embar- 
rassment, as  if  I  had  been  dipped  in  an  alum-bath.  At  the  head 
of  the  table  there  was  an  old  silver  tea-urn,  looking  heavy 
enough  to  have  the  weight  of  whole  generations  in  it,  into  which, 
at  the  moment  of  sitting  down,  a  serious-visaged  waiting-maid 
dropped  a  red-hot  weight,  and  forthwith  the  noise  of  a  violent 
boiling  arose.  We  little  folks  looked  at  each  other  inquiringly, 
but  said  nothing.  All  was  to  us  like  an  enchanted  palace.  The 
great,  mysterious  tea-urn,  the  chased  silver  tea-caddy,  the  pre- 
cise and  well-considered  movements  of  Miss  Deborah  as  she 
rinsed  the  old  embossed  silver  teapots  in  the  boiling  water,  the 
India-china  cups  and  plates,  painted  with  the  family  initials  and 
family  crest,  all  were  to  us  solemn  signs  and  symbols  of  that 
upper  table-land  of  gentility,  into  which  we  were  forewarned  by 
Aunt  Lois  we  were  to  enter. 

"  There,"  said  Miss  Deborah,  with  emphasis,  as  she  poured 
and  handed  to  Lady  Widgery  a  cup  of  tea,  —  "  there  's  some  of 
the  tea  that  my  brother  saved  at  the  time  of  that  disgraceful 
Boston  riot,  when  Boston  Harbor  was  floating  with  tea-chests. 
His  cargo  was  rifled  in  the  most  scandalous  manner,  but  he  went 
out  in  a  boat  and  saved  some  at  the  risk  of  his  life." 

Now  my  most  sacred  and  enthusiastic  remembrance  was  of 
the  glow  of  patriotic  fervor  with  which,  seated  on  my  grand- 
father's knee,  I  had  heard  the  particulars  of  that  event  at  a  time 


WE   BEHOLD   GRANDEUR.  295 

•••  when  names  and  dates  and  dress,  and  time,  place,  and  circum- 
stance, had  all  the  life  and  vividness  of  a  recent  transaction.  I 
cannot  describe  the  clarion  tones  in  which  Miss  Deborah  rung 
out  the  word  disgraceful,  in  connection  with  an  event  which  had 
always  set  my  blood  boiling  with  pride  and  patriotism.  Now,  as 
if  convicted  of  sheep-stealing,  I  felt  myself  getting  red  to  the 
very  tips  of  my  ears. 

"  It  was  a  shameful  proceeding,"  sighed  Lady  Widgery,  in  her 
pretty,  high-bred  tones,  as  she  pensively  stirred  the  amber  fluid 
in  her  teacup.  "  I  never  saw  Sir  Thomas  so  indignant  at  any- 
thing in  all  my  life,  and  I  'm  sure  it  gave  me  a  sick-headache 
for  three  days,  so  that  I  had  to  stay  shut  up  in  a  dark  room,  and 
could  n't  keep  the  least  thing  on  my  stomach.  What  a  mysteri- 
ous providence  it  is  that  such  conduct  should  be  suffered  to  lead 
to  success ! " 

"  Well,"  said  Lady  Lothrop,  sipping  her  tea  on  the  other  side, 
"  clouds  and  darkness  are  about  the  Divine  dispensations ;  but 
let  us  hope  it  will  be  all  finally  overruled  for  the  best." 

"0,  come/'  said  Miss  Debby,  giving  a  cheerful,  victorious 
crow  of  defiance  from  behind  her  teapots.  "Dorothy  will  be 
down  on  us  with  the  tip-end  of  one  of  her  husband's  sermons, 
of  course.  Having  married  a  Continental  Congress  parson,  she 
has  to  say  the  best  she  can ;  but  I,  Deborah  Kittery,  who  was 
never  yet  in  bondage  to  any  man,  shall  be  free  to  have  my  say 
to  the  end  of  my  days,  and  I  do  say  that  the  Continental  Con- 
gress is  an  abomination  in  the  land,  and  the  leaders  of  it,  if 
justice  had  been  done,  they  would  all  have  been  hanged  high  as 
Haman ;  and  that  there  is  one  house  in  old  Boston,  at  the  North 
End,  and  not  far  from  the  spot  where  we  have  the  honor  to  be, 
where  King  George  now  reigns  as  much  as  ever  he  did,  and 
where  law  and  order  prevail  in  spite  of  General  Washington 
and  Mrs.  Martha,  with  her  court  and  train.  It  puts  me  out  of 
all  manner  of  patience  to  read  the  papers,  —  receptions  to  'em 
here,  there,  and  everywhere ;  —  I  should  like  to  give  'em  a  re- 
ception." 

"  Come,  come,  Deborah,  my  child,  you  must  be  patient,"  said 
the  old  lady.  "The  Lord's  ways  are  not  as  our  ways.  He 
knows  what  is  best." 


296  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  I  dare  say  he  does,  mother,  but  we  know  he  does  let  wicked- 
ness triumph  to  au  awful  extent.  I  think  myself  he 's  given 
this  country  up." 

"  Let  us  hope  not,"  said  the  mother,  fervently. 

"  Just  look  at  it,"  said  Miss  Deborah.  "  Has  not  this  miser- 
able rebellion  broken  up  the  true  Church  in  this  country  just  as 
it  was  getting  a  foothold  ?  has  it  not  shaken  hands  with  French 
infidelity  ?  Thomas  Jefferson  is  a  scoffing  infidel,  and  he  drafted 
their  old  Declaration  of  Independence,  which,  I  will  say,  is  the 
most  abominable  and  blasphemous  document  that  ever  sinners 
dared  to  sign." 

"But  General  Washington  was  a  Churchman,"  said  Lady 
Widgery,  "  and  they  were  always  very  careful  about  keeping  the 
feasts  and  fasts.  Why,  I  remember,  in  the  old  times,  I  have 
been  there  to  Easter  holidays,  and  we  had  a  splendid  ball." 

"  Well,  then,  if  he  was  in  the  true  Church,  so  much  the  worse 
for  him,"  said  Miss  Deborah.  "  There  is  some  excuse  for  men  of 
Puritan  families,  because  their  ancestors  were  schismatics  and  dis- 
organizers  to  begin  with,  and  came  over  here  because  they 
did  n't  like  to  submit  to  lawful  government.  For  my  part,  I 
have  always  been  ashamed  of  having  been  born  here.  If  I  'd 
been  consulted  I  should  have  given  my  voice  against  it." 

"  Debby,  child,  how  you  do  talk ! "  said  the  old  lady. 

"  Well,  mother,  what  can  I  do  but  talk  ?  and  it 's  a  pity  if  I 
should  n't  be  allowed  to  do  that.  If  I  had  been  a  man,  I  'd 
have  fought ;  and,  if  I  could  have  my  way  now,  I  'd  go  back  to 
England  and  live,  where  there  's  some  religion  and  some  govern- 
ment." 

"I  don't  see,"  said  the  old  lady,  "but  people  are  doing  pretty 
well  under  the  new  government." 

"Indeed,  mother,  how  can  you  know  anything  about  it? 
There  's  a  perfect  reign  of  infidelity  and  immorality  begun. 
Why,  look  here,  in  Boston  and  Cambridge  things  are  going  just 
as  you  might  think  they  would.  The  college  fellows  call  them- 
selves D'Alembert,  Rousseau,  Voltaire,  and  other  French  heathen 
names;  and  there's  Ellery  Davenport!  just  look  at  him, — 
came  straight  down  from  generations  of  Puritan  ministers,  and 


WE  BEHOLD   GRANDEUR.  297 

has  n't  half  as  much  religion  as  my  cat  there  ;  for  Tom  does  know 
how  to  order  himself  lowly  and  reverently  to  all  his  betters." 

Here  there  was  such  a  burst  of  pleading  feminine  eloquence  on 
all  hands  as  showed  that  general  interest  which  often  pervades 
the  female  breast  for  some  bright,  naughty,  wicked  prodigal 
son.  Lady  Widgery  and  old  Mrs.  Kittery  and  Lady  Lothrop 
all  spoke  at  once.  "Indeed,  Miss  Deborah,"  —  "Come,  come, 
Debby,"  —  "  You  are  too  bad,  —  he  goes  to  church  with  us  some- 
times." 

"  To  church,  does  he  ?  "  said  Miss  Debby,  with  a  toss ;  "  and 
what  does  he  go  for  ?  Simply  to  ogle  the  girls." 

"  We  should  be  charitable  in  our  judgments,"  said  Lady  Widgery. 

"  Especially  of  handsome  young  men,"  said  Miss  Debby,  with 
strong  irony.  "  You  all  know  he  does  n't  believe  as  much  as  a 
heathen.  They  say  he  reads  and  speaks  French  like  a  native,  and 
that 's  all  I  want  to  know  of  anybody.  I  Ve  no  opinion  of  such 
people ;  a  good  honest  Christian  has  no  occasion  to  go  out  of  his 
own  language,  and  when  he  does  you  may  be  pretty  sure  it 's  for 
no  good." 

i(  O,  come  now,  Deborah,  you  are  too  sweeping  altogether," 
said  Lady  Lothrop ;  "  French  is  of  course  an  elegant  accomplish- 
ment." 

"  I  never  saw  any  good  of  the  French  language,  for  my  part, 
I  must  confess,"  said  Miss  Debby,  "  nor,  for  that  matter,  of  the 
French  nation  either ;  they  eat  frogs,  and  break  the  Sabbath,  and 
are  as  immoral  as  the  old  Canaanites.  It 's  just  exactly  like  them 
to  aid  and  abet  this  unrighteous  rebellion.  They  always  hated 
England,  and  they  take  delight  in  massacres  and  rebellions,  and 
every  kind  of  mischief,  ever  since  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew. Well,  well,  we  shall  see  what  '11  come  of  these  ungodly 
levelling  principles  in  time.  '  All  men  created  free  and  equal/ 
forsooth-  Just  think  «f  that !  clearly  against  the  church  cate- 
chism." 

"  Of  course  that  is  all  infidelity,"  said  Lady  Widgery,  confi- 
dently. "  Sir  Thomas  used  to  say  it  was  the  effect  on  the  lower 
classes  he  dreaded.  You  see  these  lower  classes  are  something 
dreadful ;  and  what 's  to  keep  them  down  if  it  is  n't  religion  ?  as 
13* 


298  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

Sir  Thomas  used  to  say  when  he  always  would  go  to  church 
Sundays.  He  felt  such  a  responsibility." 

"  Well,"  said  Mass  Deborah,  "  you  '11  see.  I  predict  we  shall 
see  the  time  when  your  butcher  and  your  baker,  and  your  candle- 
stick-maker will  come  into  your  parlor  and  take  a  chair  as  easy 
as  if  they  were  your  equals,  and  every  servant-maid  will  be 
thinking  she  must  have  a  silk  gown  like  her  mistress.  That 's 
what  we  shall  get  by  our  revolution." 

"  But  let  us  hope  it  will  be  all  overruled  for  good,"  said  Lady 
Lothrop. 

"  O,  overruled,  overruled !  "  said  Miss  Deborah.  "  Of  course 
it  will  be  overruled.  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  were  overruled  for 
good,  but 't  was  a  great  deal  better  not  to  be  living  there  about 
those  times."  Miss  Debby's  voice  had  got  upon  so  high  a  key, 
and  her  denunciations  began  to  be  so  terrifying,  that  the  dear 
old  lady  interposed. 

"  Well,  children,  do  let 's  love  one  another,  whatever  we  do," 
she  said  ;  "  and,  Debby,  you  must  n't  talk  so  hard  about  Ellery, — 
he  's  your  cousin,  you  know." 

"  Besides,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Widgery,  "  great  allowances 
should  be  made  for  his  domestic  misfortunes." 

"  I  don't  see  why  a  man  need  turn  infidel  and  rebel  because 
his  wife  has  turned  out  a  madwoman,"  said  Miss  Debby  ;  "  what 
did  he  marry  her  for  ?  " 

"  0  my  dear,  it  was  a  family  arrangement  to  unite  the  two 
properties,"  said  Lady  Widgery.  "  You  see  all  the  great  Pierre- 
point  estates  came  in  through  her,  but  then  she  was  quite  shock- 
ing, —  very  peculiar  always,  but  after  her  marriage  her  temper 
was  dreadful,  —  it  made  poor  Ellery  miserable,  and  drove  him 
from  home ;  it  really  was  a  mercy  when  it  broke  out  into  real 
insanity,  so  that  they  could  shut  her  up.  I  've  always  had  great 
tenderness  for  Ellery  on  that  account."  • 

"  Of  course  you  have,  because  you  're  a  lady.  Did  I  ever 
know  a  lady  yet  that  did  n't  like  Ellery  Davenport,  and  was  n't 
ready  to  go  to  the  stake  for  him?  For  my  part  I  hate  him,  be- 
cause, after  all,  he  humbugs  me,  and  will  make  me  like  him  in 
spite  of  myself.  I  have  to  watch  and  pray  against  him  all  the 
time." 


WE   BEHOLD    GRAXDKUR.  299 

And  as  if,  by  the  odd  law  of  attraction  which  has  given  birth 
to  the  proverb  that  somebody  is  always  nearest  when  you  are 
talking  about  him,  at  this  moment  the  dining-room  door  was 
thrown  open,  and  the  old  man-servant  announced  "  Colonel  Ellery 
Davenport." 

"  Colonel !  "  said  Miss  Debby,  with  a  frown  and  an  accent  of 
contempt.  "  How  often  must  I  tell  Hawkins  not  to  use  those 
titles  of  the  old  rebel  mob  army  ?  Insubordination  is  beginning 
to  creep  in,  I  can  see." 

These  words  were  lost  in  the  bustle  of  the  entrance  of  one  on 
whom,  after  listening  to  all  the  past  conversation,  we  children 
looked  with  very  round  eyes  of  attention.  What  we  saw  was 
a  tall,  graceful  young  man,  whose  air  and  movements  gave  a 
singular  impression  of  both  lightness  and  strength.  He  carried 
his  head  on  his  shoulders  with  a  jaunty,  slightly  haughty  air, 
like  that  of  a  thorough-bred  young  horse,  and  there  was  quality 
and  breeding  in  every  movement  of  his  body.  He  was  dressed 
in  the  imposing  and  picturesque  fashion  of  those  times,  with  a 
slight  military  suggestion  in  its  arrangements.  His  hair  was 
powdered  to  a  dazzling  whiteness,  and  brushed  off  his  low 
Greek  forehead,  and  the  powder  gave  that  peculiar  effect  to 
the  eye  and  complexion  which  was  one  of  the  most  distinctive 
traits  of  that  style  of  costume.  His  eyes  were  of  a  deep  violet 
blue,  and  of  that  lively,  flashing  brilliancy  which  a  painter  could 
only  represent  by  double  lights.  They  seemed  to  throw  out  light 
like  diamonds.  He  entered  the  room  bowing  and  smiling  with 
the  gay  good-humor  of  one  sure  of  pleasing.  An  inspiring  sort 
of  cheerfulness  came  in  with  him,  that  seemed  to  illuminate  the 
room  like  a  whole  stream  of  sunshine.  In  short,  he  fully  justified 
all  Miss  Deborah's  fears. 

In  a  moment  he  had  taken  a  rapid  survey  of  the  party ;  he 
had  kissed  the  hand  of  the  dear  old  lady ;  he  had  complimented 
Lady  Widgery ;  he  had  inquired  with  effusion  after  the  health  of 
Parson  Lothrop,  and  ended  all  by  an  adroit  attempt  to  kiss  Miss 
Deborah's  hand,  which  earned  him  a  smart  little  cuff  from  that 
wary  belligerent. 

"  No  rebels  allowed  on  these  premises,"  said  Miss  Debby,  sen- 
tentiously. 


300  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  On  my  soul,  cousin,  you  forget  that  peace  has  been  declared," 
he  said,  throwing  himself  into  a  chair  with  a  nonchalant  freedom. 

"  Peace  !  not  in  our  house.  /  have  n't  surrendered,  if  Lord 
Cornwallis  has,"  said  Miss  Debby, "  and  I  consider  you  as  the 
enemy." 

"  Well,  Debby,  we  must  love  our  enemies,"  said  the  old  lady, 
in  a  pleading  tone. 

"  Certainly  you  must,"  he  replied  quickly  ;  "  and  here  I  've 
come  to  Boston  on  purpose  to  go  to  church  with  you  to-morrow." 

"  That 's  right,  my  boy,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  I  always  knew 
you  'd  come  into  right  wrays  at  last." 

"  O,  there  are  hopes  of  me,  certainly,"  he  said ;  "  if  the  gentler 
sex  will  only  remember  their  mission,  and  be  guardian  angels,  I 
think  I  shall  be  saved  in  the  end." 

"  You  mean  that  you  are  going  to  wait  on  pretty  Lizzie  Cabot 
to  church  to-morrow,"  said  Miss  Debby ;  "  that 's  about  all  the 
religion  there  is  in  it." 

"  Mine  is  the  religion  of  beauty,  fair  cousin,"  said  he.  "  If  I 
had  had  the  honor  of  being  one  of  the  apostles,  I  should  have 
put  at  least  one  article  to  that  effect  into  our  highly  respectable 
creed." 

"  Ellery  Davenport,  you  are  a  scoffer." 

"  What,  I  ?  because  I  believe  in  the  beautiful  ?  What  is  good- 
ness but  beauty  ?  and  what  is  sin  but  bad  taste  ?  I  could  prove 
it  to  you  out  of  my  grandfather  Edwards's  works,  passim, 
and  I  think  nobody  in  New  England  would  dispute  him." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  him,"  said  Miss  Debby,  with  a 
toss.  "  He  was  n't  in  the  Church." 

"Mere  matter  of  position,  cousin.  Could  n't  very  well  be 
when  the  Church  was  a  thousand  miles  across  the  water ;  but  he 
lived  and  died  a  stanch  loyalist,  —  an  aristocrat  in  the  very 
marrow  of  his  bones,  as  anybody  may  see.  The  whole  of  his 
system  rests  on  the  undisputed  right  of  big  folks  to  eat  up  little 
folks  in  proportion  to  their  bigness,  and  the  Creator,  being 
biggest  of  all,  is  dispensed  from  all  obligation  to  seek  any- 
thing but  his  own  glory.  Here  you  have  the  root-doctrine  of 
the  divine  right  of  kings  and  nobles,  who  have  only  to  follow 


WE  BEHOLD   GRANDEUR.  301 

their  Maker's  example  in  their  several  spheres,  as  his  blessed 
Majesty  King  George  has  of  late  been  doing  with  his  American 
colonies.  If  he  had  got  the  treatise  on  true  virtue  by  heart,  he 
could  not  have  carried  out  its  principles  better." 

"  Well,  now,  I  never  knew  that  there  was  so  much  good  in 
President  Edwards  before,"  said  Lady  Widgery,  with  simplicity. 
"  I  must  get  my  maid  to  read  me  that  treatise  some  time." 

"  Do,  madam,"  said  Ellery.  "  I  think  you  will  find  it  exactly 
adapted  to  your  habits  of  thought,  and  extremely  soothing." 

"  It  will  be  a  nice  thing  for  her  to  read  me  to  sleep  with,"  said 
Lady  Widgery,  innocently. 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Ellery,  with  an  indescribable  mocking 
light  in  his  great  blue  eyes. 

For  my  own  part,  having  that  strange,  vibrating  suscept- 
ibility of  constitution  which  I  have  described  as  making  me 
peculiarly  impressible  by  the  moral  sphere  of  others,  I  felt  in 
the  presence  of  this  man  a  singular  and  painful  contest  of  at- 
traction and  repulsion,  such  as  one  might  imagine  to  be  produced 
by  the  near  approach  of  some  beautiful  but  dangerous  animal. 
His  singular  grace  and  brilliancy  awoke  in  me  an  undefined  an- 
tagonism akin  to  antipathy,  and  yet,  as  if  under  some  enchant- 
ment, I  could  not  keep  my  eyes  off  from  him,  and  eagerly  lis- 
tened to  everything  that  he  had  to  say. 

With  that  quick  insight  into  human  nature  which  enabled  him, 
as  by  a  sort  of  instinct,  to  catch  the  reflex  of  every  impression 
which  he  made  on  any  human  being,  he  surveyed  the  row  of 
wide-open,  wondering,  admiring  eyes,  which  followed  him  at  our 
end  of  the  table. 

"  Aha,  what  have  we  here  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  advanced  and  laid 
his  hand  on  my  head.  I  shuddered  and  shook  it  off  with  a  feel- 
ing of  pain  and  dislike  amounting  to  hatred. 

"  How  now,  my  little  man  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  what  '&  the  matter 
here  ?  "  and  then  he  turned  to  Tina.  "  Here  's  a  little  lady  will 
be  more  gracious,  I  know,"  and  he  stooped  and  attempted  to  kiss 
her. 

The  little  lady  drew  her  head  back  and  repulsed  him  with  the 
dignity  of  a  young  princess. 


802  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  he  said,  "  we  learn  the  tricks  of  our  trade 
early,  don't  we  ?  Pardon  me,  petite  mademoiselle,"  he  said  as  he 
retreated,  laughing.  "  So  you  don't  like  to  be  kissed  ?  " 

"  Only  by  proper  persons,"  said  Tina,  with  that  demure 
gravity  which  she  could  at  times  so  whimsically  assume,  but  send- 
ing with  the  words  a  long  mischievous  flash  from  under  her 
downcast  eyelashes. 

"  Upon  my  word,  if  there  is  n't  one  that 's  perfect  in  Mother 
Eve's  catechism  at  an  early  age,"  said  Ellery  Davenport. 
"  Young  lady,  I  hope  for  a  better  acquaintance  with  you  one  of 
these  days." 

"  Come  Ellery,  let  the  child  alone,"  said  Miss  Debby ;  "  why 
should  you  be  teaching  all  the  girls  to  be  forward  ?  If  you  no- 
tice her  so  much  she  will  be  vain." 

"  That 's  past  praying  for,  anyhow,"  said  he,  looking  with  ad- 
miration at  the  dimpling,  sparkling  face  of  Tina,  who  evidently  was 
dying  to  answer  him  back.  "  Don't  you  see  the  monkey  has  her 
quiver  full  of  arrows  ?  "  he  said.  "  Do  let  her  try  her  infant  hand 
on  me." 

But  Miss  Debby,  eminently  proper,  rose  immediately,  and 
broke  up  the  tea-table  session  by  proposing  adjournment  to  the 
parlor. 

After  this  we  had  family  prayers,  the  maid-servants  and  man- 
servant being  called  in  and  ranged  in  decorous  order  on  a  bench 
that  stood  prepared  for  exactly  that  occasion  in  a  corner  of  the 
room.  Miss  Deborah  placed  a  stand,  with  a  great  quarto  edition 
of  the  Bible  and  prayer-book,  before  her  mother,  and  the  old 
lady  read  in  a  trembling  voice  the  psalm,  the  epistle,  and  the 
gospel  for  Easter  evening,  and  then,  all  kneeling,  the  evening 
prayers.  The  sound  of  her  tremulous  voice,  and  the  beauty  of  the 
prayers  themselves,  which  I  vaguely  felt,  impressed  me  so  much 
that  I  wept,  without  knowing  why,  as  one  sometimes  does  at 
plaintive  music.  One  thing  in  particular  filled  me  with  a  sol- 
emn surprise ;  and  that  was  the  prayers,  which  I  had  never  heard 
before,  for  "  The  Eoyal  Family  of  England."  The  trembling 
voice  rose  to  fervent  clearness  on  the  words,  "  We  beseech  Thee, 
with  Thy  favor,  to  behold  our  most  Sovereign  Lord,  King 


WE   BEHOLD   GRANDEUR.  303 

George,  and  so  replenish  him  with  the  grace  of  Thy  Holy  Spirit, 
that  he  may  alway  incline  to  Thy  will,  and  walk  in  Thy  way.  En- 
due him  plenteously  with  heavenly  gifts,  grant  him  in  health 
and  wealth  long  to  live,  strengthen  him  that  he  may  vanquish 
and  overcome  all  his  enemies,  and  finally  after  this  life  may 
attain  everlasting  joy  and  felicity,  through  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord." 

The  loud  "  Amen "  from  Miss  Debby  which  followed  this, 
heartily  chorussed  as  it  was  by  the  well-taught  man-servant  and 
maid-servants,  might  have  done  any  king's  heart  good.  For  my 
part,  I  was  lost  in  astonishment ;  and  when  the  prayer  followed 
"  for  the  gracious  Queen  Charlotte,  their  Royal  Highnesses, 
George,  Prince  of  Wales,  the  Princess  Dowager  of  Wales,  and 
all  the  Royal  Family,"  my  confusion  of  mind  was  at  its  height. 
All  these  unknown  personages  were  to  be  endued  with  the  Holy 
Spirit,  enriched  with  heavenly  grace,  and  brought  to  an  everlast- 
ing kingdom,  through  Jesus  Christ,  our  Lord.  I  must  confess 
that  all  I  had  heard  of  them  previously,  in  my  education,  had 
not  prepared  me  to  see  the  propriety  of  any  peculiar  celestial 
arrangements  in  their  favor ;  but  the  sweet  and  solemn  awe  in- 
spired by  the  trembling  voice  which  pleaded  went  a  long  way 
towards  making  me  feel  as  if  there  must  have  been  a  great  mis- 
take in  my  bringing  up  hitherto. 

When  the  circle  rose  from  their  knees,  Ellery  Davenport  said 
to  Miss  Debby,  "  It 's  a  pity  the  king  of  England  could  n't  know 
what  stanch  supporters  he  has  in  Boston." 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  why  they  won't  let  us  have 
that  prayer  read  in  churches  now ;  it  can't  do  any  harm." 

"  I  don't,  either,"  said  Ellery.  "  For  my  part,  I  don't  know  any 
one  who  needs  praying  for  more  than  the  King  of  England  ;  but 
the  prayers  of  the  Church  don't  appear  to  have  been  answered 
in  his  case.  If  he  had  been  in  the  slightest  degree  '  endowed 
with  heavenly  gifts,'  he  need  n't  have  lost  these  American  colo- 
nies." 

"  Come,  Ellery,  none  of  your  profane  talk,"  said  Miss  Debby ; 
"  you  don't  believe  in  anything  good." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  always  insist  on  seeing  the  good  before  I 


304  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

believe ;  I  should  believe  in  prayer,  if  I  saw  any  good  come 
from  it," 

«  For  shame,  Ellery,  when  children  are  listening  to  you  !  "  said 
Miss  Debby.  "  But  come,  my  little  folks,"  she  added,  rising 
briskly,  "  it 's  time  for  these  little  eyes  to  be  shut." 

The  dear  old  lady  called  us  all  to  her,  and  kissed  us  «  good 
night,"  laying  her  hand  gently  on  our  heads  as  she  did  so.  I 
felt  the  peaceful  influence  of  that  hand  go  through  me  like  music, 
and  its  benediction  even  in  my  dreams. 


EASTEE   SUNDAY.  305 

CHAPTER    XXV. 

! 
EASTER    SUNDAY. 

FOR  a  marvel,  even  in  the  stormy  clime  of  Boston,  our  Eas- 
ter Sunday  was  one  of  those  celestial  days  which  seem, 
like  the  New  Jerusalem  of  the  Revelations,  to  come  straight 
down  from  God  out  of  heaven,  to  show  us  mortals  what  the 
upper  world  may  be  like.  Our  poor  old  Mother  Boston  has 
now  and  then  such  a  day  given  to  her,  even  in  the  uncertain 
spring-time  ;  and  when  all  her  bells  ring  together,  and  the 
old  North  Church  chimes  her  solemn  psalm-tunes,  and  all 
the  people  in  their  holiday  garments  come  streaming  out  to- 
wards the  churches  of  every  name  which  line  her  streets,  it 
seems  as  if  the  venerable  dead  on  Copps  Hill  must  dream 
pleasantly,  for  "  Blessed  are  the  dead  that  die  in  the  £ord," 
and  even  to  this  day,  in  dear  old  Boston,  their  works  do  follow 
them. 

At  an  early  hour  we  were  roused,  and  dressed  ourselves  with 
the  most  anxious  and  exemplary  care.  For  the  first  time  in  my 
life  I  looked  Anxiously  in  the  looking-glass,  and  scanned  with 
some  solicitude,  as  if  it  had  been  a  third  person,  the  little  being 
who  called  himself  "  I."  I  saw  a  pair  of  great  brown  eyes,  a  face 
rather  thin  and  pale,  a  high  forehead,  and  a  great  profusion  of 
dark  curls,  —  the  combing  out  of  which,  by  the  by,  was  one  of 
the  morning  trials  of  my  life.  In  vain  Aunt  Lois  had  cut  them 
off  repeatedly,  in  the  laudable  hope  that  my  hair  would  grow 
out  straight.  It  seemed  a  more  inextricable  mat  at  each 
shearing ;  but  as  Harry's  flaxen  poll  had  the  same  peculiarity, 
we  consoled  each  other,  while  we  labored  at  our  morning 
toilet. 

•Down  in  the  sunny  parlor,  a  little  before  breakfast  was  on  the 
table,  we  walked  about  softly  with  our  hands  behind  us,  lest 
Satan,  who  we  were  assured  had  always  some  mischief  still  for 

T 


306  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

idle  hands  to  do,  should  entice  us  into  touching  some  of  the  many 
curious  articles  which  we  gazed  upon  now  for  the  first  time. 
There  was  the  picture  of  a  very  handsome  young  man  over  the 
mantel-piece,  and  beneath  it  hung  a  soldier's  sword  in  a  large 
loop  of  black  crape,  a  significant  symbol  of  the  last  great  sorrow 
which  had  overshadowed  the  household.  On  one  side  of  the 
door,  framed  and  glazed,  was  a  large  coat  of  arms  of  the  Kittery 
family,  worked  in  chenille  and  embroidery,  —  the  labor  of  Miss 
Deborah's  hands  during  the  course  of  her  early  education.  In 
other  places  on  the  walls  hung  oil  paintings  of  the  deceased  mas- 
ter of  the  mansion,  and  of  the  present  venerable  mistress,  as  she 
was  in  the  glow  of  early  youth.  They  were  evidently  painted 
by  a  not  unskilful  hand,  and  their  eyes  always  following  us  as 
we  moved  about  the  room  gave  us  the  impression  of  being  over- 
looked, even  while  as  yet  there  was  nobody  else  in  the  apartment. 
Conspicuously  hung  on  one  side  of  the  room  was  a  copy  of  one 
of  the  Vandyck  portraits  of  Charles  the  First,  with  his  lace  ruff 
and  peaked  beard.  Underneath  this  was  a  printed  document, 
framed  and  glazed ;  and  I,  who  was  always  drawn  to  read  any 
thing  that  could  be  read,  stationed  myself  opposite  to  it  and  be 
gan  reading  aloud :  — 

"The  Twelve  Good  Rules  of  the  Most  Blessed  Martyr,  King 
Charles  First,  of  Blessed  Memory." 

I  was  reading  these  in  a  loud,  clear  voice,  when  Miss  Debby 
entered  the  room.  She  stopped  and  listened  to  me,  with  a  coun- 
tenance beaming  with  approbation. 

"  Go  on,  sonny ! "  she  said,  coming  up  behind  me,  with  an  ap- 
proving nod,  when  I  blushed  and  stopped  on  seeing  her.  "  Read 
them  through ;  those  are  good  rules  for  a  man  to  form  his  life 
by." 

I  wish  I  could  remember  now  what  these  so  highly  praised 
rules  were.  The  few  that  I  can  recall  are  not  especially  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  genius  of  our  modern  times.  They  began :  — 

"  1st.   Profane  no  Divine  Ordinances. 

"  2d.    Touch  no  State  Matter. 

"  3d.     Pick  no  Quarrels. 

"  4th.   Maintain  no  ill  Opinions." 


EASTER   SUNDAY.  307 

Here  ray  memory  fails  me,  but  I  remember  that,  stimulated 
by  Miss  Deborah's  approbation,  I  did  commit  the  whole  of  them 
to  memory  at  the  time,  and  repeated  them  with  a  readiness  and 
fluency  which  drew  upon  me  warm  commendations  from  the  dear 
old  lady,  and  in  fact  from  all  in  the  house,  though  Ellery  Daven- 
port did  shrug  his  shoulders  contumaciously  and  give  a  sort  of 
suppressed  whistle  of  dissent. 

"  If  we  had  minded  those  rules,"  he  said,  "  we  should  n't  be 
where  we  are  now." 

"  No,  indeed,  you  would  n't ;  the  more 's  the  pity  you  did  n't," 
said  Miss  Debby.  "  If  I  'd  had  the  bringing  of  you  up,  you 
should  be  learning  things  like  that,  instead  of  trumpery  French 
and  democratic  nonsense." 

"  Speaking  of  French,"  said  Ellery,  "  I  declare  I  forgot  u 
package  of  gloves  that  I  brought  over  especially  for  you  and 
Aunty  here,  —  the  very  best  of  Paris  kid." 

"  You  may  spare  yourself  the  trouble  of  bringing  them, 
cousin,"  said  Miss  Deborah,  coldly.  "  Whatever  others  may  do,, 
I  trust  /never  shall  be  left  to  put  a  French  glove  on  my  hands. 
They  may  be  all  very  fine,  no  doubt,  but  English  gloves,  made 
under  her  Majesty's  sanction,  will  always  be  good  enough  for  me." 

"  O,  well,  in  that  case  I  shall  have  the  honor  of  presenting 
them  to  Lady  Lothrop,  unless  her  principles  should  be  equally 
rigid." 

"  I  dare  say  Dorothy  will  take  them,"  said  Miss  Deborah. 
"  When  a  woman  has  married  a  Continental  parson,  what  can 
you  expect  of  her  ?  but,  for  my  part,  I  should  feel  that  I  dis- 
honored the  house  of  the  Lord  to  enter  it  with  gloves  on  made 
by  those  atheistical  French  people.  The  fact  is,  we  must  put 
a  stop  to  worldly  conformities  somewhere." 

"  And  you  draw  the  line  at  French  gloves,"  said  Ellery. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Deborah  ;  "  by  no  means  French 
gloves.  French  novels,  French  philosophy,  and,  above  all, 
French  morals,  or  rather  want  of  morals,  —  these  are  what  I  go 
against,  Cousin  Ellery." 

So  saying,  Miss  Debby  led  the  way  to  the  breakfast-table,  with 
an  air  of  the  most  martial  and  determined  moral  principle. 


308  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

I  remember  only  one  other  incident  of  that  morning  before  we 
went  to  church.  The  dear  old  lady  had  seemed  sensibly  affected 
by  the  levity  with  which  Ellery  Davenport  generally  spoke  upon 
sacred  subjects,  and  disturbed  by  her  daughter's  confident  asser- 
tions of  his  infidel  sentiments.  So  she  administered  to  him  an 
admonition  in  her  own  way.  A  little  before  church-time  she  was 
sitting  on  the  sofa,  reading  in  her  great  Bible  spread  out  on  the 
table  before  her. 

"  Ellery,"  she  said,  "  come  here  and  sit  down  by  me.  I  want 
you  to  read  me  this  text." 

"  Certainly,  Aunty,  by  all  means,"  he  said,  as  he  seated  him- 
self by  her,  bent  his  handsome  head  over  the  book,  and,  following 
the  lead  of  her  trembling  finger,  read  :  — 

"  And  thou,  Solomon,  my  son,  know  thou  the  God  of  thy 
fathers,  and  serve  him  with  a  perfect  heart  and  a  willing  mind. 
If  thou  seek  him,  he  will  be  found  of  thee,  but  if  thou  forsake 
him,  he  will  cast  thee  off  forever." 

%  "  Ellery,"  she  said,  with  trembling  earnestness,  "  think  of  that, 
my  boy.     O  Ellery,  remember ! " 

He  turned  and  kissed  her  hand,  and  there  certainly  were  tears 
in  his  eyes.  "  Aunty,"  he  said,  "  you  must  pray  for  me  ;  I  may 
be  a  good  boy  one  of  these  days,  who  knows  ?  " 

There  was  no  more  preaching,  and  no  more  said ;  she  only 
held  his  hand,  looked  lovingly  at  him,  and  stroked  his  forehead. 
"  There  have  been  a  great  many  good  people  among  your 
fathers,  Ellery." 

"  I  know  it,"  he  said. 

At  this  moment  Miss  Debby  came  in  with  the  summons  to 
church.  The  family  carriage  came  round  for  the  old  lady,  but 
we  were  better  pleased  to  walk  up  the  street  under  convoy  of 
Ellery  Davenport,  who  made  himself  quite  delightful  to  us. 
Tina  obstinately  refused  to  take  his  hand,  and  insisted  upon  walk- 
ing only  with  Harry,  though  from  time  to  time  she  cast  glances 
at  him  over  her  shoulder,  and  he  called  her  "  a  little  chip  of 
mother  Eve's  block,"  —  at  which  she  professed  to  feel  great 
indignation. 

The  reader  may  remember  my  description  of  our  meeting- 


EASTER   SO  DAY.  309 

house  at  Oldtown,  and  therefore  will  not  wonder  that  the  archi- 
tecture of  the  Old  North  and  its  solemn-sounding  chimes,  though 
by  no  means  remarkable  compared  with  European  churches, 
appeared  to  us  a  vision  of  wonder.  We  gazed  with  delighted 
awe  at  the  chancel  and.  the  altar,  with  their  massive  draperies 
of  crimson  looped  back  with  heavy  gold  cord  and  tassels,  and 
revealing  a  cloud  of  little  winged  cherubs,  whereat  Tina's  eyes 
grew  large  with  awe,  as  if  she  had  seen  a  vision.  Above  this 
there  was  a  mystical  Hebrew  word  emblazoned  in  a  golden 
halo,  while  around  the  galleries  of  the  house  were  marvellous 
little  colored  statuettes  of  angels  blowing  long  golden  trum- 
pets. These  figures  had  been  taken  from  a  privateer  and 
presented  to  the  church  by  a  British  man-of-war,  and  no  child 
that  saw  them  would  ever  forget  them.  Then  there  was  the 
organ,  whose  wonderful  sounds  were  heard  by  me  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life.  There  was  also  an  indefinable  impression  of 
stately  people  that  worshipped  there.  They  all  seemed  to  me 
like  Lady  Lothrop,  rustling  in  silks  and  brocades ;  with  gentle- 
men like  Captain  Brown,  in  scarlet  cloaks  and  powdered  hair. 
Not  a  crowded  house  by  any  means,  but  a  well-ordered  and  se- 
lect few,  who  performed  all  the  responses  and  evolutions  of  the 
service  with  immaculate  propriety.  I  was  struck  with  every  one's 
kneeling  and  bowing  the  head  on  taking  a  seat  in  the  church ; 
even  gay  Ellery  Davenport  knelt  down  and  hid  his  face  in 
his  hat,  though  what  he  did  it  for  was  a  matter  of  some  specu- 
lation with  us  afterward.  Miss  Debby  took  me  under  her 
special  supervision.  She  gave  me  a  prayer-book,  found  the 
places  for  me,  and  took  me  up  and  down  with  her  through  the 
whole  service,  giving  her  responses  in  such  loud,  clear,  and  ener- 
getic tones  as  entirely  to  acquit  herself  of  her  share  of  responsi- 
bility in  the  matter.  The  "  true  Church  "  received  no  detriment, 
so  far  as  she  was  concerned.  I  was  most  especially  edified  and 
astonished  by  the  deep  courtesies  which  she  and  several  distin- 
guished-looking ladies  made  at  the  name  of  the  Saviour  in  the 
Creed  ;  so  much  so,  that  she  was  obliged  to  tap  me  on  the  head 
to  indicate  to  me  my  own  part  in  that  portion  of  the  Church 
service. 


310  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

I  was  surprised  to  observe  that  Harry  appeared  perfectly 
familiar  with  the  ceremony ;  and  Lady  Lothrop,  who  had  him 
under  her  particular  surveillance,  looked  on"  with  wonder  and 
approbation,  as  he  quietly  opened  his  prayer-book  and  went 
through  the  service  with  perfect  regularity.  Tina,  who  stood 
between  Ellery  Davenport  and  the  old  lady,  seemed,  to  tell  the 
truth,  much  too  conscious  of  the  amused  attention  with  which 
he  was  regarding  her  little  movements,  notwithstanding  the 
kindly  efforts  of  her  venerable  guardian  to  guide  her  through 
the  service.  .She  resolutely  refused  to  allow  him  to  assist  her, 
half-turning  her  back  upon  him,  but  slyly  watching  him  from 
under  her  long  eyelashes,  in  a  way  that  afforded  him  great 
amusement. 

The  sermon  which  followed  the  prayers  was  of  the  most  dron- 
ing and  sleepy  kind.  But  as  it  was  dispensed  by  a  regularly 
ordained  successor  of  the  Apostles,  Miss  Deborah,  though 
ordinarily  the  shrewdest  and  sharpest  of  womankind,  and  cer- 
tainly capable  of  preaching  a  sermon  far  more  to  the  point 
herself,  sat  bolt  upright  and  listened  to  all  those  slumberous 
platitudes  with  the  most  reverential  attention. 

It  yet  remains  a  mystery  to  my  mind,  how  a  church  which  re- 
tains such  a  stimulating  and  inspiring  liturgy  could  have  such 
drowsy  preaching,  —  how  men  could  go  through  with  the  "  Te 
Deum,"  and  the  "  Gloria  in  Excelsis,"  without  one  thrill  of  in 
spiration,  or  one  lift  above  the  dust  of  earth,  and,  after  uttering 
words  which  one  would  think  might  warm  the  frozen  heart  of 
the  very  dead,  settle  sleepily  down  into  the  quietest  commonplace. 
Such,  however,  has  been  the  sin  of  ritualism  in  all  days,  prin- 
cipally because  human  nature  is,  above  all  things,  lazy,  and 
needs  to  be  thorned  and  goaded  up  those  heights  where  it  ought 
to  fly. 

Harry  and  I  both  had  a  very  nice  little  nap  during  sermon- 
time,  while  Ellery  Davenport  made  a  rabbit  of  his  pocket-hand- 
kerchief by  way  of  paying  his  court  to  Tina,  who  sat  shyly 
giggling  and  looking  at  him. 

After  the  services  came  the  Easter  dinner,  to  which,  as  a  great 
privilege,  we  were  admitted  from  first  to  last ;  although  children 


EASTER  SUNDAY.  311 

in  those  days  were  held  to  belong  strictly  to  the  dessert,  and  only 
came  in  with  the  nuts  and  raisins.  I  remember  Ellery  Daven- 
port seemed  to  be  the  life  of  the  table,  and  kept  everybody 
laughing.  He  seemed  particularly  fond  of  rousing  up  Miss 
Debby  to  those  rigorous  and  energetic  statements  concerning 
Church  and  King  which  she  delivered  with  such  freedom. 

"  I  don't  know  how  we  are  any  of  us  to  get  to  heaven  now/' 
he  said  to  Miss  Debby.  "  Supposing  I  wanted  to  be  confirmed, 
there  is  n't  a  bishop  in  America." 

"  Well,  don't  you  think  they  will  send  one  over?"  said  Lady 
Widgery,  with  a  face  of  great  solicitude. 

"  Two,  madam ;  it  would  take  two  in  order  to  start  the  succes- 
sion in  America.  The  apostolic  electricity  cannot  come  down 
through  one." 

"  I  heard  that  Dr.  Franklin  was  negotiating  with  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,"  said  Lady  Lothrop. 

"Yes,  but  they  are  not  in  the  best  humor  toward  us  over 
there,"  said  Ellery.  "  You  know  what  Franklin  wrote  back, 
don't  you?" 

"  No,"  said  Lady  Widgery  ;  "  what  was  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  he  found  Canterbury  &  Co.  rather  huffy,  and 
somewhat  on  the  bigh-and-mighty  order  with  him,  and,  being  a 
democratic  American,  he  did  n't  like  it.  So  he  wrote  over  that 
he  did  n't  see,  for  his  part,  why  anybody  that  wanted  to  preach 
the  Gospel  could  n't  preach  it,  without  sending  a  thousand  miles 
across  the  water  to  ask  leave  of  a  cross  old  gentleman  at  Canter- 
bury." 

A  shocked  expression  went  round  the  table,  and  Miss  Debby 
drew  herself  up.  "  That 's  what  I  call  a  profane  remark,  Ellery 
Davenport,"  she  said. 

"  I  did  n't  make  it,  you  understand." 

"  No,  dear,  you  did  n't,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  Of  course  you 
would  n't  say  such  a  thing." 

"  Of  course  I  should  n't,  Aunty,  —  O  no.  I  'm  only  concerned 
to  know  how  I  shall  be  confirmed,  if  ever  I  want  to  be.  Do 
you  think  there  really  is  no  other  way  to  heaven,  Miss  Debby  ? 
Now,  if  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  won't  repent,  and  I  do,  — 


312  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

if  lie  won't  send  a  bishop,  and  I  become  a  good  Christian,  —  don't 
you  think  now  the  Church  might  open  the  door  a  little  crack 
for  me?" 

"  Why,  of  course,  Ellery,"  said  Lady  Lothrop.  "  We  believe 
that  many  good  people  will  be  saved  out  of  the  Church." 

"  My  dear  madam,  that 's  because  you  married  a  Congrega- 
tional parson  ;  you  are  getting  illogical." 

"  Ellery,  you  know  better,"  said  Miss  Debby,  vigorously. 
"  You  know  we  hold  that  many  good  persons  out  of  the  Church 
are  saved,  though  they  are  saved  by  uucovenanted  mercies. 
There  are  no  direct  promises  to  any  but  those  in  the  Church  ; 
t|iey  have  no  authorized  ministry  or  sacraments." 

"  What  a  dreadful  condition  these  American  colonies  are  in ! " 
said  Ellery  ;  "  it 's  a  result  of  our  Revolution  which  never  struck 
me  before." 

"  You  can  sneer  as  much  as  you  please,  it 's  a  solemn  fact, 
Ellery ;  it 's  the  chief  mischief  of  this  dreadful  rebellion." 

"  Come,  come,  children,"  said  the  old  lady ;  "  let 's  talk 
about  something  else.  We  Ve  been  to  the  communion,  and 
heard  about  'peace  on  earth  and  good-will  to  men/  I  always 
think  of  our  blessed  King  George  every  time  I  take  the  com- 
munion wine  out  of  those  cups  that  he  gave  to  our  church." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Debby  ;  "  it  will  be  a  long  time  be- 
fore you  get  the  American  Congress  to  giving  communion  ser- 
vices, like  our  good,  pious  King  George." 

"  It 's  a  pity  pious  folks  are  so  apt  to  be  pig-headed,"  said 
Ellery,  in  a  tone  just  loud  enough  to  stir  up  Miss  Debby,  but 
not  to  catch  the  ear  of  the  old  lady. 

"  I  suppose  there  never  was  such  a  pious  family  as  our  royal 
family,"  said  Lady  Widgery.  "I  have  been  told  that  Queen 
Charlotte  reads  prayers  with  her  maids  regularly  every  night, 
and  we  all  know  how  our  blessed  King  read  prayers  beside  a 
dying  cottager." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  the  reason  is,"  said  Ellery  Davenport, 
reflectively,  "  but  political  tyrants  as  a  general  thing  are  very 
pious  men.  The  worse  their  political  actions  are,  the  more  they 
pray.  Perhaps  it  is  on  the  principle  of  compensation,  just  as 


EASTER  SUNDAY.  313 

animals  that  are  incapacitated  from  helping  themselves  in  one 
way  have  some  corresponding  organ  in  another  direction." 

"  I  agree  with  you  that  kings  are  generally  religious,"  said 
Lady  Widgery,  "  and  you  must  admit  that,  if  monarchy  makes 
men  religious,  it  is  an  argument  in  its  favor,  because  there  is 
nothing  so  important  as  religion,  you  know." 

"  The  argument,  madam,  is  a  profound  one,  and  does  credit  to 
your  discernment ;  but  the  question  now  is,  since  it  has  pleased 
Providence  to  prosper  rebellion,  and  allow  a  community  to  be 
founded  without  any  true  church,  or  any  means  of  getting  at  true 
ordinances  and  sacraments,  what  young  fellows  like  us  are  to  do 
about  it," 

"  I  '11  tell  you,  Ellery,"  said  the  old  lady,  laying  hold  of  his 
arm.  " '  Know  the  God  of  thy  fathers,  and  serve  him  with  a  per- 
fect heart  and  willing  mind,'  and  everything  will  come  right." 

"  But,  even  then,  I  could  n't  belong  to  *  the  true  Church,'  " 
said  Ellery. 

"  You  'd  belong  to  the  church  of  all  good  people,"  said  the  old 
lady,  "  and  that 's  the  main  thing." 

"  Aunty,  you  are  always  right,"  he  said. 

Now  I  listened  with  the  sharpest  attention  to  all  this  conver- 
sation, which  was  as  bewildering  to  me  as  all  the  rest  of  the  scen- 
ery and  surroundings  of  this  extraordinary  visit  had  been. 

Miss  Debby's  martial  and  declaratory  air,  the  vigorous  faith  in 
her  statements  which  she  appeared  to  have,  were  quite  a  match, 
it  seemed  to  me,  for  similar  statements  of  a  contrary  nature 
which  I  had  heard  from  my  respected  grandmother ;  and  I  could 
n't  help  wondering  in  my  own  mind  what  strange  concussions  of 
the  elementary  powers  would  result  if  ever  these  two  should  be 
brought  together.  To  use  a  modern  figure,  it  would  be  like  the 
meeting  of  two  full-charged  railroad  engines,  from  opposite  direc- 
tions, on  the  same  track. 

After  dinner,  in  the  evening,  instead  of  the  usual  service  of 
family  prayers,  Miss  Debby  catechised  her  family  in  a  vigorous 
and  determined  manner.  We  children  went  and  stood  up  with 
the  row  of  men  and  maid  servants,  and  Harry  proved  to  have 
a  very  good  knowledge  of  the  catechism,  but  Tina  and  I  only 

14 


814  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

compassed  our  answers  by  repeating  them  after  Miss  Debby ;  and 
she  applied  herself  to  teaching  us  as  if  this  were  the  only  oppor- 
tunity of  getting  the  truth  we  were  ever  to  have  in  our  lives. 

In  fact,  Miss  Debby  made  a  current  of  electricity  that,  for  the 
time  being,  carried  me  completely  away,  and  I  exerted  myself  to 
the  utmost  to  appear  well  before  her,  especially  as  I  had  gath- 
ered from  Aunt  Lois  and  Aunt  Keziah's  conversations,  that  what- 
ever went  on  in  this  mansion  belonged  strictly  to  upper  circles  of 
society,  dimly  known  and  revered.  American  democracy  had  not 
in  those  days  become  a  practical  thing,  so  as  to  outgrow  the 
result  of  generations  of  reverence  for  the  upper  classes.  And 
the  man-servant  and  the  maid-servants  seemed  so  humble,  and 
Miss  Debby  so  victorious  and  dominant,  that  I  could  n't  help  feel- 
ing what  a  grand  thing  the  true  Church  must  be,  and  find  grow- 
ing in  myself  the  desires  of  a  submissive  catechumen. 

As  to  the  catechism  itself,  I  don't  recollect  that  I  thought  one 
moment  what  a  word  of  it  meant,  I  was  so  absorbed  and  busy 
in  the  mere  effort  of  repeating  it  after  Miss  Debby's  rapid  dic- 
tation. 

The  only  comparison  I  remember  to  have  made  with  that 
which  I  had  been  accustomed  to  recite  in  school  every  Saturday 
respected  the  superior  case  of  answering  the  first  question  ;  which 
required  me,  instead  of  relating  in  metaphysical  terms  what 
"  man's  chief  end "  was  in  time  and  eternity,  to  give  a  plain 
statement  of  what  my  own  name  was  on  this  mortal  earth. 

This  first  question,  as  being  easiest,  was  put  to  Tina,  who  dim- 
pled and  colored  and  flashed  out  of  her  eyes,  as  she  usually  did 
when  addressed,  looked  shyly  across  at  Ellery  Davenport,  who 
sat  with  an  air  of  negligent  amusement  contemplating  the  scene, 
and  then  answered  with  sufficient  precision  and  distinctness, 
"  Eglantine  Percival." 

He  gave  a  little  start,  as  if  some  sudden  train  of  recollection 
had  been  awakened,  and  looked  at  her  with  intense  attention ; 
and  when  Ellery  Davenport  fixed  his  attention  upon  anybody, 
there  was  so  much  fire  and  electricity  in  his  eyes  that  they 
seemed  to  be  felt,  even  at  a  distance  ;  and  I  saw  that  Tina  con- 
stantly colored  and  giggled,  and  seemed  so  excited  that  she 


EASTER   SUNDAY.  315 

scarcely  knew  what  she  was  saying,  till  at  last  Miss  Debby,  per- 
ceiving this,  turned  sharp  round  upon  him,  and  said,  "  Ellery 
Davenport,  if  you  have  n't  any  religion  yourself,  I  wish  you 
would  n't  interrupt  my  instructions." 

"Bless  my  soul,  cousin  !  what  was  I  doing?  I  have  been  sit- 
ting here  still  as  a  mouse ;  but  I  '11  turn  my  back,  and  read  a 
good  book  " ;  —  and  round  he  turned,  accordingly,  till  the  cate- 
chising was  finished. 

When  it  was  all  over,  and  the  servants  had  gone  out,  we 
grouped  ourselves  around  the  fire,  and  Ellery  Davenport  began : 
"  Cousin  Debby,  I  'm  going  to  come  down  handsomely  to  you. 
I  admit  that  your  catechism  is  much  better  for  children  than  the 
one  I  was  brought  up  on.  I  was  well  drilled  in  the  formulas  of 
the  celebrated  Assembly  of  dryvin^s  of  Westminster,  and  dry 
enough  I  found  it.  Now  it 's  a  true  proverb, '  Call  a  man  a  thief, 
and  he  11  steal ' ;  e  give  a  dog  a  bad  name,  and  he  '11  bite  you  ' ; 
tell  a  child  that  he  is  '  a  member  of  Christ,  a  child  of  God,  and 
an  inheritor  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven,'  and  he  feels,  to  say  the 
least,  civilly  disposed  towards  religion  ;  tell  him  '  he  is  under 
God's  wrath  and  curse,  and  so  made  liable  to  all  the  miseries  of 
this  life,  to  death  itself,  and  the  pains  of  hell  forever,'  because 
somebody  ate  an  apple  five  thousand  years  ago,  and  his  religious 
associations  are  not  so  agreeable,  —  especially  if  he  has  the  an- 
swers whipped  into  him,  or  has  to  go  to  bed  without  his  supper 
for  not  learning  them." 

"  You  poor  dear !  "  said  the  old  lady ;  "  did  they  send  you  to 
bed  without  your  supper  ?  They  ought  to  have  been  whipped 
themselves,  every  one  of  them." 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  was  a  little  fellow  when  my  parents  died, 
and  brought  up  under  brother  Jonathan,  who  was  the  bluest  kind 
of  blue ;  and  he  was  so  afraid  that  I  should  mistake  my  naturally 
sweet  temper  for  religion,  that  he  instructed  me  daily  that  I  was 
a  child  of  wrath,  and  could  n't,  and  did  n't,  and  never  should  do 
one  right  thing  till  I  was  regenerated,  and  when  that  would  hap- 
pen no  mortal  knew ;  so  I  thought,  as  my  account  was  going  to 
be  scored  off  at  that  time,  it  was  no  matter  if  I  did  run  up  a 
pretty  long  one ;  so  I  lied  and  stole  whenever  it  came  handy." 


316  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  0  Ellery,  I  hope  not ! "  said  the  old  lady ;  "  certaiply  you 
never  stole  anything ! " 

"  Have,  though,  my  blessed  aunt,  —  robbed  orchards  and 
watermelon  patches ;  but  then  St.  Augustine  did  that  very  thing 
himself,  and  he  did  n't  turn  about  till  he  was  thirty  years  old, 
and  I  'm  a  good  deal  short  of  that  yet ;  so  you  see  there  is  a 
great  chance  for  me." 

"  Ellery,  why  don't  you  come  into  the  true  Church  ?  "  said  Miss 
Debby.  "  That 's  what  you  need." 

"  Well,"  said  Ellery,  "  I  must  confess  that  I  like  the  idea  of  a 
nice  old  motherly  Church,  that  sings  to  us,  and  talks  to  us,  and 
prays  with  us,  and  takes  us  in  her  lap  and  coddles  us  when  we 
are  sick  and  says,  — 

'  Hush,  my  dear,  lie  still  and  slumber.' 

Nothing  would  suit  me  better,  if  I  could  get  my  reason  to  sleep  ; 
but  the  mischief  of  a  Calvinistic  education  is,  it  wakes  up  your 
reason,  and  it  never  will  go  to  sleep  again,  and  you  can't  take  a 
pleasant  humbug  if  you  would.  Now,  in  this  life,  where  nobody 
knows  anything  about  anything,  a  capacity  for  humbugs  would 
be  a  splendid  thing  to  have.  I  wish  to  my  heart  I'd  been 
brought  up  a  Roman  Catholic !  but  I  have  not,  —  I  've  been 
brought  up  a  Calvinist,  and  so  here  I  am." 

"  But  if  you  'd  try  to  come  into  the  Church  and  believe,"  said 
Miss  Debby,  energetically,  "  grace  would  be  given  you.  You  've 
been  baptized,  and  the  Church  admits  your  baptism.  Now  just 
assume  your  position." 

Miss  Debby  spoke  with  such  zeal  and  earnestness,  that  I, 
whom  she  was  holding  in  h'er  lap,  looked  straight  across  with  the 
expectation  of  hearing  Ellery  Davenport  declare  his  immediate 
conversion  then  and  there.  I  shall  never  forget  the  expression 
of  his  face.  There  was  first  a  flash  of  amusement,  as  he  looked 
at  Miss  Debby's  strong,  sincere  face,  and  then  it  faded  into  some- 
thing between  admiration  and  pity ;  and  then  he  said  to  himself 
in  a  musing  tone :  "  I  a  *  member  of  Christ,  a  child  of  God,  and 
an  inheritor  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven.' "  And  then  a  strange, 
sarcastic  expression  broke  over  his  face,  as  he  added  :  "  Could  n't 


EASIER   SUNDAY.  317 

do  it,  cousin ;  not  exactly  niy  style.  Besides,  I  should  n't  be 
much  of  a  credit  to  any  church,  and  whichever  catches  me  would 
be  apt  to  find  a  shark  in  the  net.  Yon  see,"  he  added,  jumping 
up  and  walking  about  rapidly,  "  I  have  the  misfortune  to  have 
an  extremely  exacting  nature,  and,  if  I  set  out  to  be  religious 
at  all,  it  would  oblige  me  to  carry  the  thing  to  as  great  lengths 
as  did  my  grandfather  Jonathan  Edwards.  I  should  have  to 
take  up  the  cross  and  all  that,  and  I  don't  want  to,  and  don't 
mean  to;  and  as  to  all  these  pleasant,  comfortable  churches, 
where  a  fellow  can  get  to  heaven  without  it,  I  have  the  misfor- 
tune of  not  being  able  to  believe  in  them;  so  there  you  see 
precisely  my  situation." 

"  These  horrid  old  Calvinistic  doctrines,"  said  Miss  Debby, 
"  are  the  ruin  of  children." 

"  My  dear,  they  are  all  in  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  as  strong 
as  in  the  Cambridge  platform,  and  all  the  other  platforms,  for  the 
good  reason  that  John  Calvin  himself  had  the  overlooking  of 
them.  And,  what  is  worse,  there  is  an  abominable  sight  of  truth 
in  them.  Nature  herself  is  a  high  Calvinist,  old  jade  ;  and  there 
never  was  a  man  of  energy  enough  to  feel  the  force  of  the 
world  he  deals  with  that  was  n't  a  predestinarian,  from  the  time 
of  the  Greek  Tragedians  down  to  the  time  of  Oliver  Cromwell, 
and  ever  since.  The  hardest  doctrines  are  the  things  that  a  fellow 
sees  with  his  own  eyes  going  on  in  the  world  around  him.  If 
you  had  been  in  England,  as  I  have,  where  the  true  Church 
prevails,  you  'd  see  that  pretty  much  the  whole  of  the  lower 
classes  there  are  predestinated  to  be  conceived  and  born  in  sin,  and 
shapen  in  iniquity ;  and  come  into  the  world  in  such  circumstances 
that  to  expect  even  decent  morality  of  them  is  expecting  what 
is  contrary  to  all  reason.  This  is  your  Christian  country,  after 
eighteen  hundred  years'  experiment  of  Christianity.  The  elect, 
by  whom  I  mean  the  bishops  and  clergy  and  upper  classes,  have 
attained  to  a  position  in  which  a  decent  and  religious  life  is  prac- 
ticable, and  where  there  is  leisure  from  the  claims  of  the  body 
to  attend  to  those  of  the  soul.  These,  however,  to  a  large  extent 
are  smothering  in  their  own  fat,  or,  as  your  service  to-day  had  it, 
'  Their  heart  is  fat  as  brawn ' ;  and  so  they  don't,  to  any  great 


818  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

extent,  make  their  calling  and  election  sure.  Then,  as  for 
heathen  countries,  they  are  a  peg  below  those  of  Christianity. 
Taking  the  mass  of  human  beings  in  the  world  at  this  hour,  they 
are  in  such  circumstances,  that,  so  far  from  it 's  being  reasonable  to 
expect  the  morals  of  Christianity  of  them,  they  are  not  within 
sight  of  ordinary  human  decencies.  Talk  of  purity  of  heart  to  a 
Malay  or  Hottentot !  Why,  the  doctrine  of  a  clean  shirt  is  an 
uncomprehended  mystery  to  more  than  half  the  human  race  at 
this  moment.  That 's  what  I  call  visible  election  and  reproba- 
tion, get  rid  of  it  as  we  may  or  can." 

"  Positively,  Ellery,  I  am  not  going  to  have  you  talk  so  before 
these  children,"  said  Miss  Debby,  getting  up  and  ringing  the  bell 
energetically.  "  This  all  comes  of  the  vile  democratic  idea 
that  people  are  to  have  opinions  on  all  subjects,  instead  of  believ- 
ing what  the  Church  tells  them  ;  and,  as  you  say,  it 's  Calvinism 
that  starts  people  out  to  be  always  reasoning  and  discussing  and 
having  opinions.  I  hate  folks  who  are  always  speculating  and 
thinking,  and  having  new  doctrines  ;  all  I  want  to  know  is  my 
duty,  and  to  do  it.  I  want  to  know  what  my  part  is,  and  it 's 
none  of  my  business  whether  the  bishops  and  the  kings  and  the 
nobility  do  theirs  or  not,  if  I  only  do  mine.  '  To  do  my  duty  in 
that  state  of  life  in  which  it  has  pleased  God  to  call  me,'  is  all  I 
want,  and  I  think  it  is  all  anybody  need  want." 

"  Amen  !  "  said  Ellery  Davenport,  "  and  so  be  it." 

Here  Mrs.  Margery  appeared  with  the  candles  to  take  us  to 
bed. 

In  bidding  our  adieus  for  the  night,  it  was  customary  for  good 
children  to  kiss  all  round ;  but  Tina,  in  performing  this  ceremony 
both  this  night  and  the  night  before,  resolutely  ignored  Ellery 
Davenport,  notwithstanding  his  earnest  petitions  ;  and,  while  she 
would  kiss  with  ostentatious  affection  those  on  each  side  of  him, 
she  hung  her  head  and  drew  back  whenever  he  attempted  the 
familiarity,  yet,  by  way  of  reparation,  turned  back  at  the  door 
as  she  was  going  out,  and  made  him  a  parting  salutation  with  the 
air  of  a  princess ;  and  I  heard  him  say,  "  Upon  my  word,  how 
she  does  it ! " 

After  we  left  the  room  (this  being  a  particular  which,  like 


EASTER   SUNDAY.  319 

tellers  of  stories  in  general,  I  learned  from  other  sources),  he 
turned  to  Lady  Lothrop  and  said  :  "  Did  I  understand  that  she 
said  her  name  was  Eglantine  Percival,  and  that  she  is  a  sort  of 
foundling  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Lady  Lothrop  ;  "  both  these  children  are 
orphans,  left  on  the  parish  by  a  poor  woman  who  died  in  a  neigh- 
boring town.  They  appear  to  be  of  good  blood  and  breeding, 
but  we  have  no  means  of  knowing  who  they  are." 

"  Well,"  said  Ellery  Davenport,  "  I  knew  a  young  English 
officer  by  the  name  of  Percival,  who  was  rather  a  graceless 
fellow.  He  once  visited  me  at  my  country-seat,  with  several 
others.  When  he  went  away,  being,  as  he  often  was,  not  very  lit 
to  take  care  of  himself,  he  dropped  and  left  a  pocket-book,  so  some 
of  the  servants  told  me,  which  was  thrown  into  one  of  the 
drawers,  and  for  aught  I  know  may  be  there  now :  it 's  just 
barely  possible  that  it  may  be,  and  that  there  may  be  some 
papers  in  it  which  will  shed  light  on  these  children's  parentage. 
If  I  recollect  rightly,  he  was  said  to  be  connected  with  a  good 
English  family,  and  it  might  be  possible,  if  we  were  properly  in- 
formed, to  shame  him,  or  frighten  him  into  doing  something  for 
these  children.  I  will  look  into  the  matter  myself,  when  I  am  in 
England  next  winter,  where  I  shall  have  some  business  ;  that  is  to 
say,  if  we  can  get  any  clew.  The  probability  is  that  the  children 
are  illegitimate." 

"  O,  I  hope  not,"  said  Lady  Lothrop ;  "  they  appear  to  have 
been  so  beautifully  educated." 

"  Well,"  said  Ellery  Davenport,  "  he  may  have  seduced  his 
curate's  daughter ;  that 's  a  very  simple  supposition.  At  any  rate, 
he  never  produced  her  in  society,  never  spoke  of  her,  kept  her  in 
cheap,  poor  lodgings  in  the  country,  and  the  general  supposition 
was  that  she  was  his  mistress,  not  his  wife." 

"  No,"  said  a  little  voice  near  his  elbow,  which  startled  every 
one  in  the  room,  — "  no,  Mr.  Davenport,  my  mother  was  my 
father's  wife." 

The  fire  had  burnt  low,  and  the  candles  had  not  been  brought 
in,  and  Harry,  who  had  been  sent  back  by  Mrs.  Margery  to  give 
a  message  as  to'  the  night  arrangements,  had  entered  the  room 


320  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

softly,  and  stood  waiting  to  get  a  chance  to  deliver  it.  He  now 
came  forward,  and  stood  trembling  with  agitation,  pale  yet  bold. 
Of  course  all  were  very  much  shocked  as  he  went  on  :  "  They 
took  my  mother's  wedding-ring,  and  sold  it  to  pay  for  her  coffin  ; 
but  she  always  wore  it  and  often  told  me  when  it  was  put  on. 
But,"  he  added,  "  she  told  me,  the  night  she  died,  that  I  had  no 
father  but  God." 

"  And  he  is  Father  enough !  "  said  the  old  lady,  who,  entirely 
broken  down  and  overcome,  clasped  the  little  boy  in  her  arms. 
"  Never  you  mind  it,  dear,  God  certainly  will  take  care  of  you." 

"  I  know  he  will,"  said  the  boy,  with  solemn  simplicity ;  "  but 
I  want  you  all  to  believe  the  truth  about  my  mother." 

It  was  characteristic  of  that  intense  inwardness  and  delicacy 
which  were  so  peculiar  in  Harry's  character,  that,  when  he 
came  back  from  this  agitating  scene,  he  did  not  tell  me  a  word 
of  what  had  occurred,  nor  did  I  learn  it  till  years  afterwards. 
I  was  very  much  in  the  habit  of  lying  awake  nights,  long  after 
he  had  sunk  into  untroubled  slumbers,  and  this  night  I  remember 
that  he  lay  long  but  silently  awake,  so  very  still  and  quiet,  that 
it  was  some  time  before  I  discovered  that  he  was  not  sleeping. 

The  next  day  Ellery  Davenport  left  us,  but  we  remained  to 
see  the  wonders  of  Boston.  I  remembered  my  grandmother's 
orders,  and  went  on  to  Copps  Hill,  and  to  the  old  Granary  bury- 
ing-ground,  to  see  the  graves  of  the  saints,  and  read  the  inscrip- 
tions. I  had  a  curious  passion  for  this  sort  of  mortuary  literature, 
even  as  a  child,  —  a  sort  of  nameless,  weird,  strange  delight,  — 
so  that  I  accomplished  this  part  of  my  grandmother's  wishes  con 
amore. 

Boston  in  those  days  had  not  even  arrived  at  being  a  city,  but, 
as  the  reader  may  learn  from  contemporary  magazines,  was 
known  as  the  Town  of  Boston.  In  some  respects,  however,  it 
was  even  more  attractive  in  those  days  for  private  residences  than 
it  is  at  present.  As  is  the  case  now  in  some  of  our  large  rural 
towns,  it  had  many  stately  old  houses,  which  stood  surrounded  by 
gardens  and  grounds,  where  fruits  and  flowers  were  tended  with 
scrupulous  care.  It  was  sometimes  called  "  the  garden  town." 
The  house  of  Madam  Kittery  stood  on  a  high  eminence  over- 


EASTER  SUNDAY.  321 

looking  the  sea,  and  had  connected  with  it  a  stately  garden, 
which,  just  at  the  time  of  year  I  speak  of,  was  gay  with  the  first 
crocuses  and  snowdrops. 

In  the  eyes  of  the  New  England  people,  it  was  always  a  sort 
of  mother-town,  —  a  sacred  city,  the  shrine  of  that  religious  en- 
thusiasm which  founded  the  States  of  New  England.  There 
were  the  graves  of  her  prophets  and  her  martyrs,  —  those  who 
had  given  their  lives  through  the  hardships  of  that  enterprise  in 
so  ungenial  a  climate. 

On  Easter  Monday  Lady  Lothrop  proposed  to  take  us  all  to 
see  the  shops  and  sights  of  Boston,  with  the  bountiful  inten- 
tion of  purchasing  some  few  additions  to  the  children's  ward- 
robes. I  was  invited  to  accompany  the  expedition,  and  all  parties 
appeared  not  a  little  surprised,  and  somewhat  amused,  that  I  pre- 
ferred, instead  of  this  lively  tour  among  the  living,  to  spend  my 
time  in  a  lonely  ramble  in  the  Copps  Hill  burying-ground. 

I  returned  home  after  an  hour  or  two  spent  in  this  way,  and 
found  the  parlor  deserted  by  all  except  dear  old  Madam  Kittery. 
I  remember,  even  now,  the  aspect  of  that  sunny  room,  and  the 
perfect  picture  of  peace  and  love  that  she  seemed  to  me,  as  she 
sat  on  the  sofa  with  a  table  full  of  books  drawn  up  to  her, 
placidly  reading. 

She  called  me  to  her  as  soon  as  I  came  in,  and  would  have  me 
get  on  the  sofa  by  her.  She  stroked  my  head,  and  looked  lov- 
ingly at  me,  and  called  me  "  Sonny,"  till  my  whole  heart  opened 
toward  her  as  a  flower  opens  toward  the  sunshine. 

Among  all  the  loves  that  man  has  to  woman,  there  is  none  so 
sacred  and  saint-like  as  that  toward  these  dear,  white-haired  an- 
gels, who  seem  to  form  the  connecting  link  between  heaven  and 
earth,  who  have  lived  to  get  the  victory  over  every  sin  and  every 
sorrow,  and  live  perpetually  on  the  banks  of  the  dark  river,  in 
that  bright,  calm  land  of  Beulah,  where  angels  daily  walk  to  and 
fro,  and  sounds  of  celestial  music  are  heard  across  the  water. 

Such  have  no  longer  personal  cares,  or  griefs,  or  sorrows. 
The  tears  of  life  have  all  been  shed,  and  therefore  they  have 
hearts  at  leisure  to  attend  to  every  one  else.  Even  the  sweet, 
guileless  childishness  that  comes  on  in  this  period  has  a  sacred 


322  OLDTOWN  i'OLKS. 

dignity ;  it  is  a  seal  of  fitness  for  that  heavenly  kingdom  which 
whosoever  shall  not  receive  as  a  little  child,  shall  not  enter 
therein. 

Madam  Kittery,  with  all  her  apparent  simplicity,  had  a  sort 
of  simple  shrewdness.  She  delighted  in  reading,  and  some  of 
the  best  classical  literature  was  always  lying  on  her  table. 
She  began  questioning  me  about  my  reading,  and  asking  me 
to  read  to  her,  and  seemed  quite  surprised  at  the  intelligence  and 
expression  with  which  I  did  it. 

I  remember,  in  the  course  of  the  reading,  coming  across  a  very 
simple  Latin  quotation,  at  which  she  stopped  me.  "  There,"  said 
she,  "  is  one  of  those  Latin  streaks  that  always  trouble  me  in 
books,  because  I  can't  tell  what  they  mean.  When  George  was 
alive,  he  used  to  read  them  to  me." 

Now,  as  this  was  very  simple,  I  felt  myself  quite  adequate  to 
its  interpretation,  and  gave  it  with  a  readiness  which  pleased  her. 

"  Why !  how  came  you  to  know  Latin  ?  "  she  said. 

Then  my  heart  opened,  and  I  told  her  all  my  story,  and  how 
my  poor  father  had  always  longed  to  go  to  college,  "  and  died 
without  the  sight,"  and  how  he  had  begun  to  teach  me  Latin ; 
but  how  he  was  dead,  and  my  mother  was  poor,  and  grandpapa 
could  only  afford  to  keep  Uncle  Bill  in  college,  and  there  was  no 
way  for  me  to  go,  and  Aunt  Lois  wanted  to  bind  me  out  to  a 
shoemaker.  And  then  I  began  to  cry,  as  I  always  did  when 
I  thought  of  this. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  overflowing,  motherly  sympathy  which 
had  made  it  easy  for  me  to  tell  all  this  to  one  who,  but  a  few 
hours  before,  had  been  a  stranger ;  nor  how  she  comforted  me, 
and  cheered  me,  and  insisted  upon  it  that  I  should  immediately 
eat  a  piece  of  cake,  and  begged  me  not  to  trouble  myself  about 
it,  and  she  would  talk  to  Debby,  and  something  should  be  done. 

Now  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  what  Madam  Kittery 
could  do  in  the  situation,  but  I  was  exceedingly  strengthened 
and  consoled,  and  felt  sure  that  there  had  come  a  favorable 
turn  in  my  fortunes ;  and  the  dear  old  lady  and  myself  forth- 
with entered  into  a  league  of  friendship. 

I  was  thus  emboldened,  now  that  we  were  all  alone,  and  Miss 


EASTER  SUNDAY.  823 

Debby  far  away,  to  propound  to  her  indulgent  ear  certain  polit- 
ical doubts,  raised  by  the  conflict  of  my  past  education  with  the 
things  I  had  been  hearing  for  the  last  day  or  two. 

"  If  King  George  was  such  a  good  man,  what  made  him  op- 
press the  Colonies  so  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Why,  dear,  he  did  n't,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "  That 's  all  a 
great  mistake.  Our  King  is  a  dear,  pious,  good  man,  and  wished 
us  all  well,  and  was  doing  just  the  best  for  us  he  knew  how." 

"  Then  was  it  because  he  did  n't  know  how  to  govern  us  ? " 
said  I. 

"  My  dear,  you  know  the  King  can  do  no  wrong ;  it  was  his 
ministers,  if  anybody.  I  don't  know  exactly  how  it  was,  but 
they  got  into  a  brangle,  and  everything  went  wrong ;  and  then 
there  was  so  much  evil  feeling  and  fighting  and  killing,  and  *  there 
was  confusion,  and  every  evil  work.'  There  's  my  poor  boy," 
she  said,  pointing  to  the  picture  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  to 
the  sword  hanging  in  its  crape  loop,  —  "  he  died  for  his  King,  do- 
ing his  duty  in  that  state  of  life  in  which  it  pleased  God  to  call 
him.  I  must  n't  be  sorry  for  that,  but  0,  I  wish  there  had  n't 
been  any  war,  and  we  could  have  had  it  all  peaceful,  and  George 
could  have  stayed  with  us.  I  don't  see,  either,  the  use  of  all 
these  new-fangled  notions,  but  then  I  try  to  love  everybody, 
and  hope  for  the  best." 

So  spoke  my  dear  old  friend ;  and  has  there  ever  been  a  step 
in  human  progress  that  has  not  been  taken  against  the  prayers 
of  some  good  soul,  and  been  washed  by  tears,  sincerely  and  de- 
spondently shed?  But,  for  all  this,  is  there  not  a  true  unity  of 
the  faith  in  all  good  hearts  ?  and  when  they  have  risen  a  little 
above  the  mists  of  earth,  may  not  both  sides  —  the  conqueror 
and  the  conquered  —  agree  that  God  hath  given  them  the  vic- 
tory in  advancing  the  cause  of  truth  and  goodness  ? 

Only  one  other  conversation  that  I  heard  during  this  memora- 
ble visit  fixed  itself  very  strongly  in  my  mind.  On  the  evening 
of  this  same  day,  we  three  children  were  stationed  at  a  table  to 
look  at  a  volume  of  engravings  of  beautiful  birds,  while  Miss 
Debby,  Lady  Widgery  and  Madam  Kittery  sat  by  the  fire.  I 
heard  them  talking  of  Ellery  Davenport,  and,  though  I  had  been 


324  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

instructed  that  it  was  not  proper  for  children  to  listen  when  their 
elders  were  talking  among  themselves,  yet  it  really  was  not  possi- 
ble to  avoid  hearing  what  Miss  Debby  said,  because  all  her  words 
were  delivered  with  such  a  sharp  and  determinate  emphasis. 

As  it  appeared,  Lady  Widgery  had  been  relating  to  them  some 
of  the  trials  and  sorrows  of  Ellery  Davenport's  domestic  life. 
And  then  there  followed  a  buzz  of  some  kind  of  story  which 
Lady  Widgery  seemed  relating  with  great  minuteness.  At  last 
I  heard  Miss  Deborah  exclaim  earnestly :  "  If  I  had  a  daughter, 
catch  me  letting  her  be  intimate  with  Ellery  Davenport !  I  tell 
you  that  man  has  n't  read  French  for  nothing." 

"  I  do  assure  you,  his  conduct  has  been  marked  with  perfect 
decorum,"  said  lady  Widgery. 

"  So  are  your  French  novels,"  said  Miss  Deborah ;  "  they  are 
always  talking  about  decorum ;  they  are  full  of  decorum  and 
piety !  why,  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  nothing  to  them !  but 
somehow  they  all  end  in  adultery." 

"  Debby,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  talk  so. 
I  think  your  cousin's  heart  is  in  the  right  place,  after  all ;  and 
he 's  a  good,  kind  boy  as  ever  was." 

"  But,  mother,  he  's  a  liar  !  that 's  just  what  he  is." 

"  Debby,  Debby  !  how  can  you  talk  so  ?  " 

"  Well,  mother,  people  have  different  names  for  different 
things.  I  hear  a  great  deal  about  Ellery  Davenport's  tact  and 
knowledge  of  the  world,  and  all  that ;  but  he  does  a  great  deal 
of  what  /call  lying,  —  so  there !  Now  there  are  some  folks  who 
lie  blunderingly,  and  unskilfully,  but  I  '11  say  for  Ellery  Daven- 
port that  he  can  lie  as  innocently  and  sweetly  and  prettily  as  a 
French  woman,  and  I  can't  say  any  more.  And  if  a  woman 
doesn't  want  to  believe  him,  she  just  must  n't  listen  to  him,  that's 
all.  I  always  believe  him  when  he  is  around,  but  when  he 's  away 
and  I  think  him  over,  I  know  just  what  he  is,  and  see  just  what 
an  old  fool  he  has  made  of  me." 

These  words  dropped  into  my  childish  mind  as  if  you  should 
accidentally  drop  a  ring  into  a  deep  well.  I  did  not  think  of 
them  much  at  the  time,  but  there  came  a  day  in  my  life  when  the 
ring  was  fished  up  out  of  the  well,  good  as  new. 


WHAT  "OUK  FOLKS"   SAID  AT  OLDTOWN.  325 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 

WHAT   "OUR   FOLKS"    SAID    AT    OLDTOWN. 

WE  children  returned  to  Oldtown,  crowned  with  victory^ 
as  it  were.  Then,  as  now,  even  in  the  simple  and  se- 
vere Puritanical  village,  there  was  much  incense  burnt  upon  the 
altar  of  gentility,  —  a  deity  somewhat  corresponding  to  the  un- 
known god  whose  altar  Paul  found  at  Athens,  and  probably  more 
universally  worshipped  in  all  the  circles  of  this  lower  world  than 
any  other  idol  on  record. 

Now  we  had  been  taken  notice  of,  put  forward,  and  patron- 
ized, in  undeniably  genteel  society.  We  had  been  to  Boston  and 
come  back  in  a  coach ;  and  what  well-regulated  mind  does  not 
see  that  that  was  something  to  inspire  respect  ? 

Aunt  Lois  was  evidently  dying  to  ask  us  all  manner  of  ques- 
tions, but  was  restrained  by  a  sort  of  decent  pride.  To  exhibit 
any  undue  eagerness  would  be  to  concede  that  she  was  ignorant 
of  good  society,  and  that  the  ways  and  doings  of  upper  classes 
were  not  perfectly  familiar  to  her.  That,  my  dear  reader,  is 
what  no  good  democratic  American  woman  can  for  a  moment 
concede.  Aunt  Lois  therefore,  for  once  in  her  life,  looked  com- 
placently on  Sam  Lawson,  who  continued  to  occupy  his  usual 
roost  in  the  chimney-corner,  and  who,  embarrassed  with  no  simi- 
lar delicate  scruples,  put  us  through  our  catechism  with  the  usual 
Yankee  thoroughness. 

"  Well,  chillen,  I  suppose  them  Kitterys  has  everythin'  in 
real  grander,  don't  they  ?  I  've  heerd  tell  that  they  hes  Turkey 
carpets  on  th'  floors.  You  know  Josh  Kittery,  he  was  in  the 
Injy  trade.  Turkey  carpets  is  that  kind,  you  know,  that  lies 
all  up  thick  like  a  mat.  They  had  that  kind,  did  n't  they  ?  " 

We  eagerly  assured  him  that  they  did. 

"  Want  to  know,  now,"  said  Sam,  who  always  moralized  as  he 
went  along.  "  Wai,  wal,  some  folks  does  seem  to  receive  their 


326  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

good  thin's  in  this  life,  don't  they  ?  S'pose  the  tea-things  all  on 
'em  was  solid  silver,  wa'  n't  they  ?  Yeh  did  n't  ask  them,  did 
yeh  ?  " 

"  0  no,"  said  I ;  "  you  know  we  were  told  we  must  n't  ask 
questions." 

"  Jes  so ;  very  right,  —  little  boys  should  n't  ask  questions. 
But  I  've  heerd  a  good  'eal  about  the  Kittery  silver.  Jake  Mar- 
shall, he  knew  a  fellah  that  had  talked  with  one  of  their  servants, 
that  helped  bury  it  in  the  cellar  in  war-times,  and  he  said  theh 
was  porringers  an'  spoons  an'  tankards,  say  nothing  of  table- 
spoons, an'  silver  forks,  an'  sich.  That  'ere  would  ha'  been  a  haul 
for  Congress,  if  they  could  ha'  got  hold  on  't  in  war-time,  would  n't 
it  ?  S'pose  yeh  was  sot  up  all  so  grand,  and  hed  servants  to  wait 
on  yeh,  behind  yer  chairs,  did  n't  yeh  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  we  assured  him,  "  we  did." 

"  Wai,  wal ;  yeh  must  n't  be  carried  away  by  these  'ere  glories: 
they  's  transitory,  arte"r  all :  ye  must  jest  come  right  daown  to  plain 
livin'.  How  many  servants  d'  yeh  say  they  kep'  ?  " 

"  Why,  there  were  two  men  and  two  women,  besides  Lady 
Widgery's  maid  and  Mrs.  Margery." 

"  And  all  used  to  come  in  to  prayers  every  night,"  said  Harry. 

"  Hes  prayers  reg'lar,  does  they  ?  "  said  Sam.  "  Well,  now, 
that  'ere  beats  all !  Did  n't  know  as  these  gran'  families  wus  so 
pious  as  that  comes  to.  Who  prayed  ?  " 

"  Old  Madam  Kittery,"  said  I.  "  She  used  to  read  prayers  out 
of  a  large  book." 

"  O  yis ;  these  'ere  gran'  Tory  families  is  'Piscopal,  pretty 
much  all  on  'em.  But  now  readin'  prayers  out  of  a  book,  that 
'ere  don'  strike  me  as  just  the  right  kind  o'  thing.  For  my  part, 
I  like  prayers  that  come  right  out  of  the  heart  better.  But  then, 
lordy  massy,  folks  lies  theh  different  ways ;  an'  I  ain't  so  set  as 
Polly  is.  Why,  I  b'lieve,  if  that  'ere  woman  had  her  way,  theh 
would  n't  nobody  be  'lowed  to  do  nothin',  except  just  to  suit  her. 
Yeh  did  n't  notice,  did  yeh,  what  the  Kittery  coat  of  arms  was  ?  " 

Yes,  we  had  noticed  it ;  and  Harry  gave  a  full  description 
of  an  embroidered  set  of  armorial  bearings  which  had  been  one 
of  the  ornaments  of  the  parlor. 


WHAT  "OUR  FOLKS"   SAID   AT   OLDTOWN.  827 

"  So  you  say,"  said  Sam,  "  't  was  a  lion  upon  his  hind  legs,  — 
that  'ere  is  what  they  call  *  the  lion  rampant,'  —  and  then  there 
was  a  key  and  a  scroll.  Wai !  coats  of  arms  is  curus,  and  I  don't 
wonder  folks  kind  o'  hangs  onter  urn ;  but  then,  the  Kitterys  bein' 
Tories,  they  nat'ally  has  more  interest  in  sech  thin's.  Do  you 
know  where  Mis'  Kittery  keeps  her  silver  nights  ?  " 

"  No,  really,"  said  I ;  "  we  were  sent  to  bed  early,  and  did  n't 
see." 

Now  this  inquiry,  from  anybody  less  innocent  than  Sam  Lawson, 
might  have  been  thought  a  dangerous  exhibition  of  burglarious 
proclivities  ;  but  from  him  it  was  received  only  as  an  indication 
of  that  everlasting  thirst  for  general  information  which  was  his 
leading  characteristic. 

When  the  rigor  of  his  cross-examination  had  somewhat  abated, 
he  stooped  over  the  fire  to  meditate  further  inquiries.  I  seized 
the  opportunity  to  propound  to  my  grandmother  a  query  which 
had  been  the  result  of  my  singular  experiences  for  a  day  or  two 
past.  So,  after  an  interval  in  which  all  had  sat  silently  looking 
into  the  great  coals  of  the  fire,  I  suddenly  broke  out  with  the 
inquiry,  "  Grandmother,  what  is  The  True  Church  ?  " 

I  remember  the  expression  on  my  grandfather's  calm,  be- 
nign face  as  I  uttered  this  query.  It  was  an  expression  of 
shrewd  amusement,  such  as  befits  the  face  of  an  elder  when  a 
younger  has  propounded  a  well-worn  problem  ;  but  my  grand- 
mother had  her  answer  at  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  and  replied,  "  It 
is  the  whole  number  of  the  elect,  my  son." 

I  had  in  my  head  a  confused  remembrance  of  Ellery  Daven- 
port's tirade  on  election,  and  of  the  elect  who  did  or  did  not 
have  clean  shirts ;  so  I  pursued  my  inquiry  by  asking,  "  Who 
are  the  elect  ?  " 

"All  good  people,"  replied  my  grandfather.  "In  every 
nation  he  that  feareth  God  and  worketh  righteousness  is  ac- 
cepted of  Him." 

"  Well,  how  came  you  to  ask  that  question  ?  "  said  my  grand- 
mother, turning  on  me. 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  because  Miss  Deborah  Kittery  said  that  the 
war  destroyed  the  true  Church  in  this  country." 


328  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

u  O,  pshaw  ! "  said  my  grandmother ;  "  that 's  some  of  her 
Episcopal  nonsense.  I  really  should  like  to  ask  her,  now,  if  she 
thinks  there  ain't  any  one  going  to  heaven  but  Episcopalians." 

"  O  no,  she  does  n't  think  so,'"  said  I,  rather  eagerly.  "  She 
said  a  great  many  good  people  would  be  saved  out  of  the  Church, 
but  they  would  be  saved  by  uncovenanted  mercies." 

"  Uncovenanted  fiddlesticks  !  "  said  my  grandmother,  her  very 
cap-border  bristling  with  contempt  and  defiance.  "  Now,  Lois, 
you  just  see  what  comes  of  sending  children  into  Tory  Episcopal 
families,  —  coming  home  and  talking  nonsense  like  that ! " 

"  Mercy,  mother  !  what  odds  does  it  make  ?  "  said  Aunt  Lois. 
"  The  children  have  got  to  learn  to  hear  all  sorts  of  things  said,  — 
may  as  well  hear  them  at  one  time  as  another.  Besides,  it 
all  goes  into  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other." 

My  grandmother  was  better  pleased  with  the  account  that  I 
hastened  to  give  her  of  my  visit  to  the  graves  of  the  saints  and 
martyrs,  in  my  recent  pilgrimage.  Her  broad  face  glowed  with 
delight,  as  she  told  over  again  to  our  listening  ears  the  stories  of 
the  faith  and  self-denial  of  those  who  had  fled  from  an  oppressive 
king  and  church,  that  they  might  plant  a  new  region  where  life 
should  be  simpler,  easier,  and  more  natural.  And  she  got  out 
her  "  Cotton  Mather,"  and,  notwithstanding  Aunt  Lois's  reminder 
that  she  had  often  read  it  before,  read  to  us  again,  in  a  trembling 
yet  audible  voice,  that  wonderful  document,  in  which  the  reasons 
for  the  first  planting  of  New  England  are  set  forth.  Some  of 
these  reasons  I  remember  from  often  hearing  them  in  my  child- 
hood. They  speak  thus  quaintly  of  the  old  countries  of  Eu- 
rope :  — 

"  Thirdly.  The  land  grows  weary  of  her  inhabitants,  insomuch 
that  man,  which  is  the  most  precious  of  all  creatures,  is  here 
more  vile  than  the  earth  he  treads  upon,  —  children,  neighbors, 
and  friends,  especially  the  poor,  which,  if  things  were  right, 
would  be  the  greatest  earthly  blessings. 

"  Fourthly.  We  are  grown  to  that  intemperance  in  all  excess 
of  riot,  as  no  mean  estate  will  suffice  a  man  to  keep  sail  with  his 
equals,  and  he  that  fails  in  it  must  live  in  scorn  and  contempt : 
hence  it  comes  to  pass  that  all  arts  and  trades  are  carried  in  that 


WHAT   "OUR   FOLKS"   SAID   AT   OLDTOWN.  329 

deceitful  manner  and  unrighteous  course,  as  it  is  almost  impos- 
sible for  a  good,  upright  man  to  maintain  his  constant  charge, 
and  live  comfortably  in  them. 

"  Fifthly.  The  schools  of  learning  and  religion  are  so  corrupted 
as  (besides  the  insupportable  charge  of  education)  most  children 
of  the  best,  wittiest,  and  of  the  fairest  hopes  are  perverted,  cor- 
rupted, and  utterly  overthrown  by  the  multitude  of  evil  examples 
and  licentious  behaviours  in  these  seminaries. 

"  Sixthly.  The  whole  earth  is  the  Lord's  garden,  and  he  hath 
given  it  to  the  sons  of  Adam  to  be  tilled  and  improved  by  them. 
Why  then  should  we  stand  starving  here  for  places  of  habitation, 
and  in  the  mean  time  suffer  whole  countries  as  profitable  for  the 
use  of  man  to  lie  waste  without  any  improvement  ?  " 

Language  like  this,  often  repeated,  was  not  lost  upon  us.  The 
idea  of  self-sacrifice  which  it  constantly  inculcated,  —  the  rever- 
ence for  self-denial,  —  the  conception  of  a  life  which  should  look, 
not  mainly  to  selfish  interests,  but  to  the  good  of  the  whole 
human  race,  prevented  the  hardness  and  roughness  of  those  early 
New  England  days  trom  becoming  mere  stolid,  material  toil.  It 
was  toil  and  manual  labor  ennobled  by  a  new  motive. 

Even  in  those  very  early  times  there  was  some  dawning  sense 
of  what  the  great  American  nation  was  yet  to  be.  And  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  was  constantly  taught,  by  every  fireside, 
to  feel  that  he  or  she  was  part  and  parcel  of  a  great  new  move- 
ment in  human  progress.  The  old  aristocratic  ideas,  though  still 
lingering  in  involuntary  manners  and  customs,  only  served  to 
give  a  sort  of  quaintness  and  grace  of  Old- World  culture  to  the 
roughness  of  new-fledged  democracy. 

Our  visit  to  Boston  was  productive  of  good  to  us  such  as  we 
little  dreamed  of.  In  the  course  of  a  day  or  two  Lady  Lothrop 
called,  and  had  a  long  private  interview  with  the  female  portion 
of  the  family;  after  which,  to  my  great  delight,  it  was  an- 
nounced to  us  that  Harry  and  I  might  begin  to  study  Latin,  if 
we  pleased,  and  if  we  proved  bright,  good  boys,  means  would  be 
provided  for  the  finishing  of  our  education  in  college. 

I  was  stunned  and  overwhelmed  by  the  great  intelligence, 
and  Harry  and  I  ran  over  to  tell  it  to  Tina,  who  jumped  about 


830  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

and  hugged  and  kissed  us  botli  with  an  impartiality  which  some 
years  later  she  quite  forgot  to  practise. 

"  I  'm  glad,  because  you  like  it,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  should  think 
it  would  be  horrid  to  study  Latin." 

I  afterwards  learned  that  I  was  indebted  to  nay  dear  old  friend 
Madam  Kittery  for  the  good  fortune  which  had  befallen  me. 
She  had  been  interested  in  my  story,  as  it  appears,  to  some  pur- 
pose, and,  being  wealthy  and  without  a  son,  had  resolved  to  con- 
sole herself  by  appropriating  to  the  education  of  a  poor  boy  a 
portion  of  the  wealth  which  should  have  gone  to  her  own  child. 

The  searching  out  of  poor  boys,  and  assisting  them  to  a  liberal 
education,  had  ever  been  held  to  be  one  of  the  appropriate  works 
of  the  minister  in  a  New  England  town.  The  schoolmaster  who 
taught  the  district  school  did  not  teach  Latin  ;  but  Lady  Lothrop 
was  graciously  pleased  to  say  that,  for  the  present,  Dr.  Lothrop 
would  hear  our  lessons  at  a  certain  hour  every  afternoon ;  and 
the  reader  may  be  assured  that  we  studied  faithfully  in  view  of 
an  ordeal  like  this. 

I  remember  one  of  our  favorite  places  fof  study.  The  brown, 
sparkling  stream  on  which  my  grandfather's  mill  was  placed  had 
just  below  the  mill-dam  a  little  island,  which  a  boy  could  easily 
reach  by  wading  through  the  shallow  waters  over  a  bed  of  many- 
colored  pebbles.  The  island  was  overshadowed  by  thick 
bushes,  which  were  all  wreathed  and  matted  together  by  a  wild 
grape-vine ;  but  within  I  had  hollowed  out  for  myself  a  green 
little  arbor,  and  constructed  a  rude  wigwam  of  poles  and  bark, 
after  the  manner  of  those  I  had  seen  among  the  Indians.  It 
was  one  of  the  charms  of  this  place,  that  nobody  knew  of  it: 
it  was  utterly  secluded;  and  being  cut  off  from  land  by  the 
broad  belt  of  shallow  water,  and  presenting  nothing  to  tempt  or 
attract  anybody  to  its  shores,  it  was  mine,  and  mine  alone. 
There  I  studied,  and  there  I  read ;  there  I  dreamed  and  saw 
visions. 

Never  did  I  find  it  in  my  heart  to  tell  to  any  other  boy  the 
secret  of  this  woodland  shelter,  this  fairy-land,  so  near  to  the 
real  outer  world ;  but  Harry,  with  his  refinement,  his  quietude, 
his  sympathetic  silence,  seemed  to  me  as  unobjectionable  an  asso- 


WHAT   "OUK   FOLKS"    SAID   AT   OLDTOWN.  831 

ciate  as  the  mute  spiritual  companions  whose  presence  had 
cheered  my  lonely,  childish  sleeping-room. 

We  moved  my  father's  Latin  books  into  a  rough  little  closet 
that  we  constructed  in  our  wigwam ;  and  there,  with  the  water 
dashing  behind  us,  and  the  afternoon  sun  shining  down  through 
the  green  grape-leaves,  with  bluebirds  and  bobolinks  singing  to 
us,  we  studied  our  lessons.  More  than  that,  we  spent  many  pleas- 
ant hours  in  reading ;  and  I  have  now  a  resume,  in  our  boyish 
handwriting,  of  the  greater  part  of  Plutarch's  Lives,  which  we 
wrote  out  during  this  summer. 

As  to  Tina,  of  course  she  insisted  upon  it  that  we  should  occa- 
sionally carry  her  in  a  lady-chair  over  to  this  island,  that  she 
might  inspect  our  operations  and  our  housekeeping,  and  we  read 
some  of  these  sketches  to  her  for  her  critical  approbation ;  and 
if  any  of  them  pleased  her  fancy,  she  would  immediately  insist 
that  we  should  come  over  to  Miss  Mehitable's,  and  have  a 
dramatic  representation  of  them  up  in  the  garret. 

Saturday  afternoon,  in  New  England,  was  considered,  from  time 
immemorial,  as  the  children's  perquisite  ;  and  hard-hearted  must 
be  that  parent  or  that  teacher  who  would  wish  to  take  away  from 
them  its  golden  hours.  Certainly  it  was  not  Miss  Mehilable,  nor 
my  grandmother,  that  could  be  capable  of  any  such  cruelty. 

Our  Saturday  afternoons  were  generally  spent  as  Tina  dic- 
tated ;  and,  as  she  had  a  decided  taste  for  the  drama,  one  of  our 
most  common  employments  was  the  improvising  of  plays,  with 
Miss  Tina  for  stage  manager.  The  pleasure  we  took  in  these 
exercises  was  inconceivable ;  they  had  for  us  a  vividness  and 
reality  past  all  expression. 

I  remember  our  acting,  at  one  time,  the  Book  of  Esther,  with 
Tina,  very  much  be-trinketed  and  dressed  out  in  an  old  flowered 
brocade  that  she  had  rummaged  from  a  trunk  in  the  garret,  as 
Queen  Esther.  Harry  was  Mordecai,  and  I  was  Ahasuerus. 

The  great  trouble  was  to  find  a  Haman ;  but,  as  the  hanging  of 
Hainan  was  indispensable  to  any  proper  moral  effect  of  the  tragedy, 
Tina  petted  and  cajoled  and  coaxed  old  Bose,  the  yellow  dog  of  our 
establishment,  to  undertake  the  part,  instructing  him  volubly  that 
he  must  sulk  and  look  cross  when  Mordecai  went  by,  —  a  thing 


332  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

which  Bose,  who  was  one  of  the  best-natured  of  dogs,  found  diffi- 
culty in  learning.  Bose  would  always  insist  upon  sitting  on  his 
haunches,  in  his  free-and-easy,  jolly  manner,  and  lolling  out  his 
red  tongue  in  a  style  so  decidedly  jocular  as  utterly  to  spoil  the 
effect,  till  Tina,  reduced  to  desperation,  ensconced  herself  under 
an  old  quilted  petticoat  behind  him,  and  brought  out  the  proper 
expression  at  the  right  moment  by  a  vigorous  pull  at  his  tail. 
Bose  was  a  dog  of  great  constitutional  equanimity,  but  there 
were  some  things  that  transcended  even  his  powers  of  endur- 
ance, and  the  snarl  that  he  gave  to  Mordecai  was  held  to  be  a 
triumphant  success  ;  but  the  thing  was,  to  get  him  to  snarl  when 
Tina  was  in  front  of  him,  where  she  could  see  it;  and  now 
will  it  be  believed  that  the  all-conquering  little  mischief-maker 
actually  kissed  and  flattered  and  bejuggled  old  Polly  into  taking 
this  part  behind  the  scenes  ? 

No  words  can  more  fitly  describe  the  abject  state  to  which  that 
vehemently  moral  old  soul  was  reduced. 

When  it  came  to  the  hanging  of  Haman,  the  difficulties  thick- 
ened. Polly  warned^  us  that  we  must  by  no  means  attempt  to 
hang  Bose  by  the  neck,  as  "  the  crittur  was  heavy,  and  't  was 
sartin  to  be  the  death  of  him."  So  we  compromised  by  passing 
the  rope  under  his  fore  paws,  or,  as  Tina  called  it,  "  under  his 
arms."  But  Bose  was  rheumatic,  and  it  took  all  Tina's  petting 
and  caressing,  and  obliged  Polly  to  go  down  and  hunt  out  two  or 
three  slices  of  meat  from  her  larder,  to  induce  him  fairly  to  sub- 
mit to  the  operation  ;  but  hang  him  we  did,  and  he  ki-hied  with 
a  vigor  that  strikingly  increased  the  moral  effect.  So  we  soon  let 
him  down  again,  and  plentifully  rewarded  him  with  cold  meat. 

In  a  similar  manner  we  performed  a  patriotic  drama,  entitled 
«  The  Battle  of  Bunker  Hill,"  in  which  a  couple  of  old  guns  that 
we  found  in  the  garret  produced  splendid  effects,  and  salvoes  of 
artillery  were  created  by  the  rolling  across  the  garret  of  two  old 
cannon-balls ;  but  this  was  suppressed  by  order  of  the  authori- 
ties, on  account  of  the  vigor  of  the  cannonade.  Tina,  by  the  by, 
figured  in  this  as  the  "  Genius  of  Liberty,"  with  some  stars  on 
her  head  cut  out  of  gilt  paper,  and  wearing  an  old  flag  which 
we  had  pulled  out  of  one  of  the  trunks. 


WHAT   "OUR   FOLKS"   SAID  AT   OLDTOWN. 

We  also  acted  the  history  of  "  Romulus  and  Remus,"  with 
Bose  for  the  she-wolf.  The  difference  in  age  was  remedied  by  a 
vigorous  effort  of  the  imagination.  Of  course,  operations  of  this 
nature  made  us  pretty  familiar  with  the  topography  of  the  old 
garret.  There  was,  however,  one  quarter,  fenced  off  by  some 
barrels  filled  with  pamphlets,  where  Polly  strictly  forbade  us 
to  go. 

What  was  the  result  of  such  a  prohibition,  O  reader  ?  Can 
you  imagine  it  to  be  any  other  than  that  that  part  of  the  garret 
became  at  once  the  only  one  that  we  really  cared  about  investi- 
gating ?  How  we  hung  about  it,  and  considered  it,  and  peeped 
over  and  around  and  between  the  barrels  at  a  pile  of  pictures, 
that  stood  with  their  faces  to  the  wall !  What  were  those  pic- 
tures, we  wondered.  When  we  asked  Polly  this,  she  drew  on 
a  mysterious  face  and  said,  "Them  was  things  we  must  n't  ask 
about." 

We  talked  it  over  among  ourselves,  and  Tina  assured  us  that 
she  dreamed  about  it  nights ;  but  Polly  had  strictly  forbidden  us 
even  to  mention  that  corner  of  the  garret  to  Miss  Mehitable,  or 
to  ask  her  leave  to  look  at  it,  alleging,  as  a  reason,  that  "  't  would 
bring  on  her  hypos." 

We  did  n't  know  what  "  hypos  "  were,  but  we  supposed  of 
course  they  must  be  something  dreadful;  but  the  very  fear- 
fulness  of  the  consequences  that  might  ensue  from  our  getting 
behind  those  fatal  barrels  only  made  them  still  more  attractive. 
Finally,  one  rainy  Saturday  afternoon,  when  we  were  tired  of 
acting  plays,  and  the  rain  pattered  on  the  roof,  and  the  wind 
howled  and  shook  the  casings,  and  there  was  a  generally  wild  and 
disorganized  state  of  affairs  out  of  doors,  a  sympathetic  spirit 
of  insubordination  appeared  to  awaken  in  Tina's  bosom.  "  I  de- 
clare, I  am  going  inside  of  those  barrels !  "  she  said.  "  I  don't 
care  if  Polly  does  scold  us ;  I  know  I  can  bring  her  all  round 
again  fast  enough.  I  can  do  about  what  I  like  with  Polly. 
Now  you  boys  just  move  this  barrel  a  little  bit,  and  I  '11  go  in 
and  see!" 

Just  at  this  moment  there  was  one  of  those  chance  lulls  in  the 
storm  that  sometimes  occur,  and  as  Tina  went  in  behind  the 


334  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

barrels,  and  boldly  turned  the  first  picture,  a  ray  of  sunshine 
streamed  through  the  dusky  window  and  lit  it  up  with  a  watery 
light. 

Harry  and  Tina  both  gave  an  exclamation  of  astonishment. 

"  O  Tina !  it 's  the  lady  in  the  closet !  " 

The  discovery  seemed  really  to  frighten  the  child.  She 
retreated  quickly  to  the  outside  of  the  barrels  again,  and  stood 
with  us,  looking  at  the  picture. 

It  was  a  pastel  of  a  young  girl  in  a  plain,  low-necked  white 
dress,  with  a  haughty,  beautiful  head,  and  jet-black  curls  flowing 
down  her  neck,  and  deep,  melancholy  black  eyes,  that  seemed  to 
fix  themselves  reproachfully  on  us. 

"  O  dear  me,  Harry,  what  shall  we  do  ?  "  said  Tina.  "  How 
she  looks  at  us !  This  certainly  is  the  very  same  one  that  we 
saw  in  the  old  house." 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  done  it,  Tina,"  said  Harry,  in  a 
rather  low  and  frightened  voice ;  "  but  I  '11  go  in  and  turn  it 
back  again." 

Just  at  this  moment  we  heard  what  was  still  more  appalling, 
• —  the  footsteps  of  Polly  on  the  garret  stairs. 

"  Well  !  now  I  should  like  to  know  if  there  's  any  mischief 
you  wouldn't  be  up  to,  Tina  Percival,"  she  said,  coming  for- 
ward, reproachfully.  "  When  I  give  you  the  run  of  the  whole 
garret,  and  wear  my  life  out  a  pickin'  up  and  puttin'  up  after 
you,  I  sh'd  think  you  might  let  this  'ere  corner  alone ! " 

"  Oh !  but,  Polly,  you  've  no  idea  how  I  wanted  to  see  it,  and 
do  pray  tell  me  who  it  is,  and  how  came  it  here  ?  Is  it  anybody 
that 's  dead  ?  "  said  Tina,  hanging  upon  Polly  caressingly. 

"  Somebody  that 's  dead  to  us,  I  'm  afraid,"  said  Polly,  sol- 
emnly. 

«  Do  tell  us,  Polly,  do  !  who  was  she  ?  " 

"  Well,  child,  you  must  n't  never  tell  nobody,  nor  let  a  word 
about  it  come  out  of  your  lips  ;  but  it 's  Parson  Rossiter's  daugh- 
ter Emily,  and  where  she 's  gone  to,  the  Lord  only  knows.  I 
took  that  'ere  pictur'  down  myself,  and  put  it  up  here  with  Mr. 
Theodore's,  so  't  Miss  Mehitable  need  n't  see  'em,  'cause  they 
always  give  her  the  hypos." 


WHAT   "OUR   FOLKS"   SAID   AT   OLDTOWN.  335 

"  And  don't  anybody  know  where  she  is,"  said  Tina,  "  or 
if  she 's  alive  or  dead  ?  " 

"  Nobody,"  said  Polly,  shaking  her  head  solemnly.  "  All 
I  hope  is,  she  may  never  come  back  here  again.  You  see,  chil- 
dren, what  comes  o'  fbllerin'  the  nateral  heart ;  it 's  deceitful 
above  all  things,  and  desperately  wicked.  She  followed  her 
nateral  heart,  and  nobody  knows  where  she  's  gone  to." 

Polly  spoke  with  such  sepulchral  earnestness  that,  what  with 
gloomy  weather  and  the  consciousness  of  having  been  acces- 
sory to  an  unlawful  action,  we  all  felt,  to  say  the  least,  extremely 
sober. 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  got  such  a  heart  as  that  ?  "  said  Tina, 
after  a  deep-drawn  sigh. 

"  Sartain,  you  have,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  We  all  on  us 
has.  "Why,  if  the  Lord  should  give  any  on  us  a  sight  o'  our  own 
heart  just  as  it  is,  it  would  strike  us  down  dead  right  on  the 
spot." 

"  Mercy  on  us,  Polly !  I  hope  he  won't,  then,"  said  Tina. 
"  But,  Polly,"  she  added,  getting  her  arms  round  her  neck  and 
playing  with  her  gold  beads,  "you  have  n't  got  such  a  very  bad 
heart  now ;  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  I  'm  sure  you  are  just 
as  good  as  can  be." 

"  Law,  Miss  Tina,  you  don't  see  into  me,"  said  Polly,  who, 
after  all,  felt  a  sort  of  ameliorating  gleam  stealing  over  her. 
"  You  must  n't  try  to  wheedle  me  into  thinking  better  of  myself 
than  I  be  ;  that  would  just  lead  to  carnal  security." 

"  Well,  Polly,  don't  tell  Miss  Mehitable,  and  I  '11  try  and  not 
get  you  into  carnal  security." 

Polly  went  behind  the  barrels,  gently  wiped  the  dust  from  the 
picture,  and  turned  the  melancholy,  beseeching  face  to  the  wall 
again  ;  but  we  pondered  and  talked  many  days  as  to  what  it 
might  be. 


336  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 


CHAPTEE    XXVII. 

HOW   WE   KEPT    THANKSGIVING   AT    OLDTOWN. 

ON  the  whole,  about  this  time  in  our  life  we  were  a  reasona- 
bly happy  set  of  children.  The  Thanksgiving  festival  of 
that  year  is  particularly  impressed  on  my  mind  as  a  white 
day. 

Are  there  any  of  my  readers  who  do  not  know  what  Thanks- 
giving day  is  to  a  child  ?  Then  let  them  go  back  with  me,  and 
recall  the  image  of  it  as  we  kept  it  in  Oldtown. 

People  have  often  supposed,  because  the  Puritans  founded 
a  society  where  there  were  no  professed  public  amusements,  that 
therefore  there  was  no  fun  going  on  in  the  ancient  land  of 
Israel,  and  that  there  were  no  cakes  and  ale,  because  they  were 
virtuous.  They  were  never  more  mistaken  in  their  lives.  There 
was  an  abundance  of  sober,  well-considered  merriment ;  and  the 
hinges  of  life  were  well  oiled  with  that  sort  of  secret  humor 
which  to  this  day  gives  the  raciness  to  real  Yankee  wit.  Be- 
sides this,  we  must  remember  that  life  itself  is  the  greatest 
possible  amusement  to  people  who  really  believe  they  can  do 
much  with  it,  —  who  have  that  intense  sense  of  what  can  be 
brought  to  pass  by  human  effort,  that  was  characteristic  of  the 
New  England  colonies.  To  such  it  is  not  exactly  proper  to  say 
that  life  is  an  amusement,  but  it  certainly  is  an  engrossing  interest 
that  takes  the  place  of  all  amusements. 

Looking  over  the  world  on  a  broad  scale,  do  we  not  find  that 
public  entertainments  have  very  generally  been  the  sops  thrown 
out  by  engrossing  upper  classes  to  keep  lower  classes  from  in- 
quiring too  particularly  into  their  rights,  and  to  make  them  sat- 
isfied with  a  stone,  when  it  was  not  quite  convenient  to  give  them 
bread  ?  Wherever  there  is  a  class  that  is  to  be  made  content  to 
be  plundered  of  its  rights,  there  is  an  abundance  of  fiddling  and 
dancing,  and  amusements,  public  and  private,  are  in  great  requi- 


HOW  WE   KEPT   THANKSGIVING  AT   OLDTOWN.          337 

sition.  It  may  also  be  set  down,  I  think,  as  a  general  axiom, 
that  people  feel  the  need  of  amusements  less  and  less,  precisely 
in  proportion  as  they  have  solid  reasons  for  being  happy. 

Our  good  Puritan  fathers  intended  to  form  a  state  of  society 
of  such  equality  of  conditions,  and  to  make  the  means  of  secur- 
ing the  goods  of  life  so  free  to  all,  that  everybody  should  find 
abundant  employment  for  his  faculties  in  a  prosperous  seeking 
of  his  fortunes.  Hence,  while  they  forbade  theatres,  operas, 
and  dances,  they  made  a  state  of  unparalleled  peace  and  pros- 
perity, where  one  could  go  to  sleep  at  all  hours  of  day  or  night 
with  the  house  door  wide  open,  without  bolt  or  bar,  yet  without 
apprehension  of  any  to  molest  or  make  afraid.  . 

There  were,  however,  some  few  national  fetes :  —  Election 
day,  when  the  Governor  took  his  seat  with  pomp  and  rejoicing, 
and  all  the  housewives  outdid  themselves  in  election  cake,  and 
one  or  two  training  days,  when  all  the  children  were  refreshed, 
and  our  military  ardor  quickened,  by  the  roll  of  drums,  and  the 
flash  of  steel  bayonets,  and  marchings  and  evolutions,  —  sometimes 
ending  in  that  sublimest  of  military  operations,  a  sham  fight,  in 
which  nobody  was  killed.  The  Fourth  of  July  took  high  rank, 
after  the  Declaration  of  Independence  ;  but  the  king  and  high 
priest  of  all  festivals  was  the  autumn  Thanksgiving. 

When  the  apples  were  all  gathered  and  the  cider  was  all  made, 
and  the  yellow  pumpkins  were  rolled  in  from  many  a  hill  in  billows 
of  gold,  and  the  corn  was  husked,  and  the  labors  of  the  season  were 
done,  and  the  warm,  late  days  of  Indian  Summer  came  in,  dreamy 
and  calm  and  still,  with  just  frost  enough  to  crisp  the  ground  of 
a  morning,  but  with  warm  trances  of  benignant,  sunny  hours  at 
noon,  there  came  over  the  community  a  sort  of  genial  repose  of 
spirit,  —  a  sense  of  something  accomplished,  and  of  a  new  golden 
mark  made  in  advance  on  the  calendar  of  life,  —  and  the  deacon 
began  to  say  to  the  minister,  of  a  Sunday,  "  I  suppose  it 's  about 
time  for  the  Thanksgiving  proclamation." 

Rural  dress-makers  about  this  time  were  extremely  busy  in 
making  up  festival  garments,  for  everybody's  new  dress,  if  she 
was  to  have  one  at  all,  must  appear  on  Thanksgiving  day. 

Aunt  Keziah  and  Aunt  Lois  and  my  mother  talked  over  their 
15  v 


338  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

bonnets,  and  turned  them  round  and  round  on  their  hands,  and  dis- 
coursed sagely  of  ribbons  and  linings,  and  of  all  the  kindred  bon- 
nets that  there  were  in  the  parish,  and  how  they  would  prob- 
ably appear  after  Thanksgiving.  My  grandmother,  whose  mind 
had  long  ceased  to  wander  on  such  worldly  vanities,  was  at  this 
time  officiously  reminded  by  her  daughters  that  her  bonnet  was  n't 
respectable,  or  it  was  announced  to  her  that  she  must  have  a 
new  gown.  Such  were  the  distant  horizon  gleams  of  the  Thanks- 
giving festival. 

We  also  felt  its  approach  in  all  departments  of  the  household, 
—  the  conversation  at  this  time  beginning  to  turn  on  high  and 
solemn  culinary  mysteries  and  receipts  of  wondrous  power  and 
virtue.  New  modes  of  elaborating  squash  pies  and  quince  tarts 
were  now  ofttimes  carefully  discussed  at  the  evening  fireside  by 
Aunt  Lois  and  Aunt  Keziah,  and  notes  seriously  compared  with 
the  experiences  of  certain  other  Aunties  of  high  repute  in  such 
matters.  I  noticed  that  on  these  occasions  their  voices  often  fell 
into  mysterious  whispers,  and  that  receipts  of  especial  power  and 
sanctity  were  communicated  in  tones  so  low  as  entirely  to  escape 
the  vulgar  ear.  I  still  remember  the  solemn  shake  of  the  head 
with  which  my  Aunt  Lois  conveyed  to  Miss  Mehitable  Rossiter 
the  critical  properties  of  mace,  in  relation  to  its  powers  of  produ- 
cing in  corn  fritters  a  suggestive  resemblance  to  oysters.  As 
ours  was  an  oyster-getting  district,  and  as  that  charming  bivalve 
was  perfectly  easy  to  come  at,  the  interest  of  such  an  imitation 
can  be  accounted  for  only  by  the  fondness  of  the  human  mind 
for  works  of  art. 

For  as  much  as  a  week  beforehand,  "  we  children  "  were  em- 
ployed in  chopping  mince  for  pies  to  a  most  wearisome  fineness, 
and  in  pounding  cinnamon,  allspice,  and  cloves  in  a  great  lignum- 
vit.se  mortar ;  and  the  sound  of  this  pounding  and  chopping  re- 
echoed through  all  the  rafters  of  the  old  house  with  a  hearty  and 
vigorous  cheer,  most  refreshing  to  our  spirits. 

In  those  clays  there  were  none  of  the  thousand  ameliorations 
of  the  labors  of  housekeeping  which  have  since  arisen,  —  no 
ground  and  prepared  spices  and  sweet  herbs  ;  everything  came 
into  our  hands  in  the  rough,  and  in  bulk,  and  the  reducing  of  it 


HOW  WE   KEPT   THANKSGIVING   AT   OLDTOWN.          339 

into  a  state  for  use  was  deemed  one  of  the  appropriate  labors  of 
childhood.  Even  the  very  salt  that  we  used  in  cooking  was 
rock-salt,  which  we  were  required  to  wash  and  dry  and  pound 
and  sift,  before  it  became  fit  for  use. 

At  other  times  of  the  year  we  sometimes  murmured  at  these 
labors,  but  those  that  were  supposed  to  usher  in  the  great  Thanks- 
giving festival  were  always  entered  into  with  enthusiasm.  There 
were  signs  of  richness  all  around  us,  —  stoning  of  raisins,  cutting 
of  citron,  slicing  of  candied  orange-peel.  Yet  all  these  were 
only  dawnings  and  intimations  of  what  was  coming  during  the 
week  of  real  preparation,  after  the  Governor's  proclamation  had 
been  read. 

The  glories  of  that  proclamation  !  We  knew  beforehand  the 
Sunday  it  was  to  be  read,  and  walked  to  church  with  alacrity, 
filled  with  gorgeous  and  vague  expectations. 

The  cheering  anticipation  sustained  us  through  what  seemed 
to  us  the  long  waste  of  the  sermon  and  prayers ;  and  when  at 
last  the  auspicious  moment  approached,  — when  the  last  quaver 
of  the  last  hymn  had  died  out,  —  the  whole  house  rippled  with 
a  general  movement  of  complacency,  and  a  satisfied  smile  of 
pleased  expectation  might  be  seen  gleaming  on  the  faces  of 
all  the  young  people,  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  through  a  garden 
of  flowers. 

Thanksgiving  now  was  dawning !  We  children  poked  one 
another,  and  fairly  giggled  with  unreproved  delight  as  we  lis- 
tened to  the  crackle  of  the  slowly  unfolding  document.  That 
great  sheet  of  paper  impressed  us  as  something  supernatural, 
by  reason  of  its  mighty  size,  and  by  the  broad  seal  of  the 
State  affixed  thereto  ;  and  when  the  minister  read  therefrom, 
"  By  his  Excellency,  the  Governor  of  the  Commonwealth  of 
Massachusetts,  a  Proclamation,"  our  mirth  was  with  difficulty 
repressed  by  admonitory  glances  from  our  sympathetic  elders. 
Then,  after  a  solemn  enumeration  of  the  benefits  which  the 
Commonwealth  had  that  year  received  at  the  hands  of  Divine 
Providence,  came  at  last  the  naming  of  the  eventful  day,  and, 
at  the  end  of  all,  the  imposing  heraldic  words,  "  God  save  the 
Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts."  And  then,  as  the  congre- 


340  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

gallon  broke  up  and  dispersed,  all  went  their  several  ways  with 
schemes  of  mirth  and  feasting  in  their  heads. 

And  now  came  on  the  week  in  earnest.  In  the  very  watches 
of  the  night  preceding  Monday  morning,  a  preternatural  stir  be- 
low stairs,  and  the  thunder  of  the  pounding-barrel,  announced 
that  the  washing  was  to  be  got  out  of  the  way  before  daylight, 
so  as  to  give  "  ample  scope  and  room  enough "  for  the  more 
pleasing  duties  of  the  season. 

The  making  of  pies  at  this  period  assumed  vast  proportions 
that  verged  upon  the  sublime.  Pies  were  made  by  forties  and 
fifties  and  hundreds,  and  made  of  everything  on  the  earth  and 
under  the  earth. 

The  pie  is  an  English  institution,  which,  planted  on  American 
soil,  forthwith  ran  rampant  and  burst  forth  into  an  untold  variety 
of  genera  and  species.  Not  merely  the  old  traditional  mince 
pie,  but  a  thousand  strictly  American  seedlings  from  that  main 
stock,  evinced  the  power  of  American  housewives  to  adapt  old 
institutions  to  new  uses.  Pumpkin  pies,  cranberry  pies,  huckle- 
berry pies,  cherry  pies,  green-currant  pies,  peach,  pear,  and  plum 
pies,  custard  pies,  apple  pies,  Marlborough-pudding  pies,  —  pies 
with  top  crusts,  and  pies  without,  —  pies  adorned  with  all  sorts 
of  fanciful  flutings  and  architectural  strips  laid  across  and  around, 
and  otherwise  varied,  attested  the  boundless  fertility  of  the  femi- 
nine mind,  when  once  let  loose  in  a  given  direction. 

Fancy  the  heat  and  vigor  of  the  great  pan-formation,  when 
Aunt  Lois  and  Aunt  Keziah,  and  my  mother  and  grandmother,  all 
in  ecstasies  of  creative  inspiration,  ran,  bustled,  and  hurried,  — 
mixing,  rolling,  tasting,  consulting,  —  alternately  setting  us  chil- 
dren to  work  when  anything  could  be  made  of  us,  and  then  chas- 
ing us  all  out  of  the  kitchen  when  our  misinformed  childhood 
ventured  to  take  too  many  liberties  with  sacred  mysteries.  Then 
out  we  would  all  fly  at  the  kitchen  door,  like  sparks  from  a  black- 
smith's window. 

On  these  occasions,  as  there  was  a  great  looseness  in  the  police 
department  over  us  children,  we  usually  found  a  ready  refuge  at 
Miss  Mehitable's  with  Tina,  who,  confident  of  the  strength  of  her 
position  with  Polly,  invited  us  into  the  kitchen,  and  with  the  air 
of  a  mistress  led  us  around  to  view  the  proceedings  there. 


HOW  WE  KEPT   THANKSGIVING  AT   OLDTOWN.          341 

A  genius  for  entertaining  was  one  of  Tina's  principal  charac- 
teristics ;  and  she  did  not  fail  to  make  free  with  raisins,  or  citron, 
or  whatever  came  to  hand,  in  a  spirit  of  hospitality  at  which 
Polly  seriously  demurred.  That  worthy  woman  occasionally  felt 
the  inconvenience  of  the  state  of  subjugation  to  which  the  little 
elf  had  somehow  or  other  reduced  her,  and  sometimes  rattled  her 
chains  fiercely,  scolding  with  a  vigor  which  rather  alarmed  us, 
but  which  Tina  minded  not  a  whit.  Confident  of  her  own  pow- 
ers, she  would,  in  the  very  midst  of  her  wrath,  mimic  her  to  her 
face  with  such  irresistible  drollery  as  to  cause  the  torrent  of  re- 
proof to  end  in  a  dissonant  laugh,  accompanied  by  a  submis- 
sive cry  for  quarter. 

"  I  declare,  Tina  Percival,"  she  said  to  her  one  day,  "  you  're 
saucy  enough  to  physic  a  horn-bug!  I  never  did  see  the  beater 
of  you !  If  Miss  Mehitable  don't  keep  you  in  better  order,  I 
don't  see  what 's  to  become  of  any  of  us ! " 

"  Why,  what  did  become  of  you  before  I  came  ?  "  was  the  un- 
dismayed reply.  "  You  know,  Polly,  you  and  Aunty  both  were 
just  as  lonesome  as  you  could  be  till  I  came  here,  and  you 
never  had  such  pleasant  times  in  your  life  as  you  've  had  since 
I  've  been  here.  You  're  a  couple  of  old  beauties,  both  of  you, 
and  know  just  how  to  get  along  with  me.  But  come,  boys,  let's 
take  our  raisins  and  go  up  in  the  garret  and  play  Thanksgiving." 

In  the  corner  of  the  great  kitchen,  during  all  these  days,  the 
jolly  old  oven  roared  and  crackled  in  great  volcanic  billows  of 
flame,  snapping  and  gurgling  as  if  the  old  fellow  entered  with 
joyful  sympathy  into  the  frolic  of  the  hour ;  and  then,  his  great 
heart  being  once  warmed  up,  he  brooded  over  successive  gen- 
erations of  pies  and  cakes,  which  went  in  raw  and  came  out 
cooked,  till  butteries  and  dressers  and  shelves  and  pantries  were 
literally  crowded  with  a  jostling  abundance. 

A  great  cold  northern  chamber,  where  the  sun  never  shone, 
and  where  in  winter  the  snow  sifted  in  at  the  window-cracks,  and 
ice  and  frost  reigned  with  undisputed  sway,  was  fitted  up  to  be 
the  storehouse  of  these  surplus  treasures.  There,  frozen  solid, 
and  thus  well  preserved  in  their  icy  fetters,  they  formed  a  great 
repository  for  all  the  winter  months;  and  the  pies  baked  at 


342  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

Thanksgiving  often  came  out  fresh  and  good  with  the  violets  of 
April. 

During  this  eventful  preparation  week,  all  the  female  part  of 
my  grandmother's  household,  as  I  have  before  remarked,  were  at 
a  height  above  any  ordinary  state  of  mind,  —  they  moved  about 
the  house  rapt  in  a  species  of  prophetic  frenzy.  It  seemed  to  be 
considered  a  necessary  feature  of  such  festivals,  that  everybody 
should  be  in  a  hurry,  and  everything  in  the  house  should  be  turned 
bottom  upwards  with  enthusiasm,  —  so  at  least  we  children  under- 
stood it,  and  we  certainly  did  our  part  to  keep  the  ball  rolling. 

At  this  period  the  constitutional  activity  of  Uncle  Fliakim 
increased  to  a  degree  that  might  fairly  be  called  preternatural. 
Thanksgiving  time  was  the  time  for  errands  of  mercy  and  benefi- 
cence through  the  country ;  and  Uncle  Fliakim's  immortal  old 
rubber  horse  and  rattling  wagon  were  on  the  full  jump,  in  tours  of 
investigation  into  everybody's  affairs  in  the  region  around.  On 
returning,  he  would  fly  through  our  kitchen  like  the  wind, 
leaving  open  the  doors,  upsetting  whatever  came  in  his  way, 
—  now  a  pan  of  milk,  and  now  a  basin  of  mince,  —  talking  rap- 
idly, and  forgetting  only  the  point  in  every  case  that  gave  it 
significance,  or  enabled  any  one  to  put  it  to  any  sort  of  use. 
When  Aunt  Lois  checked  his  benevolent  effusions  by  putting 
the  test  questions  of  practical  efficiency,  Uncle  Fliakim  always 
remembered  that  he  'd  "  forgotten  to  inquire  about  that,"  and 
skipping  through  the  kitchen,  and  springing  into  his  old  wagon, 
would  rattle  off  again  on  a  full  tilt  to  correct  and  amend  his  in- 
vestigations. 

Moreover,  my  grandmother's  kitchen  at  this  time  began  to 
be  haunted  by  those  occasional  hangers-on  and  retainers,  of  un- 
certain fortunes,  whom  a  full  experience  of  her  bountiful  habits 
led  to  expect  something  at  her  hand  at  this  time  of  the  year. 
All  the  poor,  loafing  tribes,  Indian  and  half-Indian,  who  at 
other  times  wandered,  selling  baskets  and  other  light  wares,  were 
sure  to  come  back  to  Oldtown  a  little  before  Thanksgiving  time, 
and  report  themselves  in  rny  grandmother's  kitchen. 

The  great  hogshead  of  cider  in  the  cellar,  which  my  grand- 
father called  the  Indian  Hogshead,  was  on  tap  at  all  hours  of  the 


HOW   WE  KEPT   THANKSGIVING   AT   OLDTOWN.          843 

day  ;  and  many  a  mugful  did  I  draw  and  dispense  to  the  tribes 
that  basked  in  the  sunshine  at  our  door. 

Aunt  Lois  never  had  a  hearty  conviction  of  the  propriety  of 
these  arrangements  ;  but  my  grandmother,  who  had  a  prodigious 
verbal  memory,  bore  down  upon  her  with  such  strings  of  quota- 
tions from  the  Old  Testament  that  she  was  utterly  routed. 

"Now,"  says  my  Aunt  Lois,  "  I  s'pose  we  Ve  got  to  have  Betty 
Poganut  and  Sally  Wonsamug,  and  old  Obscue  and  his  wife, 
and  the  whole  tribe  down,  roosting  around  our  doors,  till  we  give 
'em  something.  That 's  just  mother's  way ;  she  always  keeps  a 
whole  generation  at  her  heels." 

"  How  many  times  must  I  tell  you,  Lois,  to  read  your  Bible  ? " 
was  my  grandmother's  rejoinder ;  and  loud  over  the  sound  of 
pounding  and  chopping  in  the  kitchen  could  be  heard  the  voice 
of  her  quotations :  "  If  there  be  among  you  a  poor  man  in  any  of 
the  gates  of  the  land  which  the  Lord  thy  God  giveth  thee,  thou 
shalt  not  harden  thy  heart,  nor  shut  thy  hand,  from  thy  poor 
brother.  Thou  shalt  surely  give  him ;  and  thy  heart  shall  not  be 
grieved  when  thou  givest  to  him,  because  that  for  this  thing  the 
Lord  thy  God  shall  bless  thee  in  all  thy  works  ;  for  the  poor  shall 
never  cease  from  out  of  the  land." 

These  words  seemed  to  resound  like  a  sort  of  heraldic  proc- 
lamation to  call  around  us  all  that  softly  shiftless  class,  who,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  are  never  to  be  found  with  anything  in  hand 
at  the  moment  that  it  is  wanted. 

"  There,  to  be  sure,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  one  day  when  our  prep- 
arations were  in  full  blast,  — "  there  comes  Sam  Lawson  down 
the  hill,  limpsy  as  ever;  now  he  '11  have  his  doleful  story  to 
tell,  and  mother  '11  give  him  one  of  the  turkeys." 

And  so,  of  course,  it  fell  out. 

Sam  came  in  with  his  usual  air  of  plaintive  assurance,  and 
seated  himself  a  contemplative  spectator  in  the  chimney-corner, 
regardless  of  the  looks  and  signs  of  unwelcome  on  the  part  of 
Aunt  Lois. 

"  Lordy  massy,  how  prosperous  everything  does  seem,  here ! " 
he  said,  in  musing  tones,  over  his  inevitable  mug  of  cider ;  "  so 
different  from  what 't  is  t'  our  house.  There  's  Hepsy,  she  's  all 


344  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

in  a  stew,  an'  I  've  just  been  an'  got  her  thirty-seven  cents'  wuth 
o'  nutmegs,  yet  she  says  she  's  sure  she  don't  see  how  she  's 
to  keep  Thanksgiving,  an'  she 's  down  on  me  about  it,  just 
as  ef  't  was  my  fault.  Yeh  see,  last  winter  our  old  gobbler  got 
froze.  You  know,  Mis'  Badger,  that  'ere  cold  night  we  hed  last 
winter.  Wai,  I  was  off  with  Jake  Marshall  that  night ;  ye  see, 
Jake,  he  hed  to  take  old  General  Dearborn's  corpse  into  Boston, 
to  the  family  vault,  and  Jake,  he  kind  o'  hated  to  go  alone; 
't  was  a  drefful  cold  time,  and  he  ses  to  me,  '  Sam,  you  jes' 
go  'Jong  with  me ' ;  so  I  was  sort  o'  sorry  for  him,  and  I  kind  o' 
thought  I  'd  go  'long.  Wai,  come  'long  to  Josh  Bissel's  tahvern, 
there  at  the  Half-way  House,  you  know,  't  was  so  swinging  cold 
we  stopped  to  take  a  little  suthin'  warmin',  an'  we  sort  o'  sot  an' 
sot  over  the  fire,  till,  fust  we  knew,  we  kind  o'  got  asleep ;  an' 
when  we  woke  up  we  found  we  'd  left  the  old  General  hitched 
up  t'  th'  post  pretty  much  all  night.  Wai,  did  n't  hurt  him  none, 
poor  man  ;  't  was  allers  a  favorite  spot  o'  his'n.  But,  takin'  one 
thing  with  another,  I  did  n't  get  home  till  about  noon  next  day, 
an',  I  tell  you,  Hepsy  she  was  right  down  on  me.  She  said  the 
baby  was  sick,  and  there  had  n't  been  no  wood  split,  nor  the  barn 
fastened  up,  nor  nothin'.  Lordy  massy,  I  did  n't  mean  no  harm  ; 
I  thought  there  was  wood  enough,  and  I  thought  likely  Hepsy  'd 
git  out  an'  fasten  up  the  barn.  But  Hepsy,  she  was  in  one  o' 
her  contrary  streaks,  an'  she  would  n't  do  a  thing ;  an',  when  I 
went  out  to  look,  why,  sure  'nuff,  there  was  our  old  torn-turkey 
froze  as  stiff  as  a  stake,  —  his  claws  jist  a  stickin'  right  straight 
up  like  this."  Here  Sam  struck  an  expressive  attitude,  and 
looked  so  much  like  a  frozen  turkey  as  to  give  a  pathetic  reality 
to  the  picture. 

"  Well  now,  Sam,  why  need  you  be  off  on  things  that 's  none 
of  your  business  ?  "  said  my  grandmother.  "  I  've  talked  to  you 
plainly  about  that  a  great  many  times,  Sam,"  she  continued,  in 
tones  of  severe  admonition.  "  Hepsy  is  a  hard-working  woman, 
but  she  can't  be  expected  to  see  to  everything,  and  you  oughter 
'ave  been  at  home  that  night  to  fasten  up  your  own  barn  and 
look  after  your  own  creeturs." 

Sam  took  the  rebuke  all  the  more  meekly  as  he  perceived  the 


HOW  WE  KEPT   THANKSGIVING  AT   OLDTOWN.          345 

stiff  black  legs  of  a  turkey  poking  out  from  under  niy  grand- 
mother's apron  while  she  was  delivering  it.  To  be  exhorted  and 
told  of  his  shortcomings,  and  then  furnished  with  a  turkey  at 
Thanksgiving,  was  a  yearly  part  of  his  family  programme.  In 
time  he  departed,  not  only  with  the  turkey,  but  with  us  boys 
in  procession  after  him,  bearing  a  mince  and  a  pumpkin  pie  for 
Hepsy's  children. 

"  Poor  things  ! "  my  grandmother  remarked  ;  "  they  ought  to 
have  something  good  to  eat  Thanksgiving  day ;  't  ain't  their  fault 
that  they  've  got  a  shiftless  father." 

Sam,  in  his  turn,  moralized  to  us  children,  as  we  walked  beside 
him:  "A  body  'd  think  that  Hepsy  'd  learn  to  trust  in  Provi- 
dence," he  said,  "  but  she  don't.  She  allers  has  a  Thanksgiving 
dinner  pervided ;  but  that  'ere  woman  ain't  grateful  for  it,  by  no 
manner  o'  means.  Now  she  '11  be  jest  as  cross  as  she  can  be, 
'cause  this  'ere  ain't  our  turkey,  and  these  'ere  ain't  our  pies. 
Folks  doos  lose  so  much,  that  hes  sech  dispositions." 

A  multitude  of  similar  dispensations  during  the  course  of  the 
week  materially  reduced  the  great  pile  of  chickens  and  turkeys 
which  black  Caesar's  efforts  in  slaughtering,  picking,  and  dressing 
kept  daily  supplied. 

Besides  these  offerings  to  the  poor,  the  handsomest  turkey  of 
the  flock  was  sent,  dressed  in  first-rate  style,  with  Deacon  Bad- 
ger's dutiful  compliments,  to  the  minister ;  and  we  children,  who 
were  happy  to  accompany  black  Caesar  on  this  errand,  generally 
received  a  seed-cake  and  a  word  of  acknowledgment  from  the 
minister's  lady. 

Well,  at  last,  when  all  the  chopping  and  pounding  and  baking 
and  brewing,  preparatory  to  the  festival,  were  gone  through  with, 
the  eventful  day  dawned.  All  the  tribes  of  the  Badger  family 
were  to  come  back  home  to  the  old  house,  with  all  the  relations 
of  every  degree,  to  eat  the  Thanksgiving  dinner.  And  it  was 
understood  that  in  the  evening  the  minister  and  his  lady  would 
look  in  upon  us,  together  with  some  of  the  select  aristocracy  of 
Oldtown. 

Great  as  the  preparations  were  for  the  dinner,  everything  was 
so  contrived  that  not  a  soul  in  the  house  should  be  kept  from  the 
15* 


346  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

morning  service  of  Thanksgiving  in  the  church,  and  from  lis- 
tening to  the  Thanksgiving  sermon,  in  which  the  minister  was 
expected  to  express  his  views  freely  concerning  the  politics  of 
the  country,  and  the  state  of  things  in  society  generally,  in  a 
somewhat  more  secular  vein  of  thought  than  was  deemed  exactly 
appropriate  to  the  Lord's  day.  But  it  is  to  be  confessed,  that, 
when  the  good  man  got  carried  away  by  the  enthusiasm  of  his 
subject  to  extend  these  exercises  beyond  a  certain  length,  anxious 
glances,  exchanged  between  good  wives,  sometimes  indicated  a 
weakness  of  the  flesh,  having  a  tender  reference  to  the  turkeys 
and  chickens  and  chicken  pies,  which  might  possibly  be  over- 
doing in  the  ovens  at  home.  But  your  old  brick  oven  was  a 
true  Puritan  institution,  and  backed  up  the  devotional  habits  of 
good  housewives,  by  the  capital  care  which  he  took  of  whatever 
was  committed  to  his  capacious  bosom.  A  truly  well-bred  oven 
would  have  been  ashamed  of  himself  all  his  days,  and  blushed 
redder  than  his  own  fires,  if  a  God-fearing  house-matron,  away 
at  the  temple  of  the  Lord,  should  come  home  and  find  her  pie- 
crust either  burned  or  underdone  by  his  over  or  under  zeal ;  so 
the  old  fellow  generally  managed  to  bring  things  out  exactly 
right. 

When  sermons  and  prayers  were  all  over,  we  children  rushed 
home  to  see  the  great  feast  of  the  year  spread. 

What  chitterings  and  chatterings  there  were  all  over  the 
house,  as  all  the  aunties  and  uncles  and  cousins  came  pour- 
ing in,  taking  off  their  things,  looking  at  one  another's  bonnets 
and  dresses,  and  mingling  their  comments  on  the  morning  ser- 
mon with  various  opinions  on  the  new  millinery  outfits,  and  with 
bits  of  home  news,  and  kindly  neighborhood  gossip. 

Uncle  Bill,  whom  the  Cambridge  college  authorities  released, 
as  they  did  all  the  other  youngsters  of  the  land,  for  Thanksgiv- 
ing day,  made  a  breezy  stir  among  them  all,  especially  with 
the  young  cousins  of  the  feminine  gender. 

The  best  room  on  this  occasion  was  thrown  wide  open,  and 
its  habitual  coldness  had  been  warmed  by  the  burning  down 
of  a  great  stack  of  hickory  logs,  which  had  been  heaped  up  unspar- 
ingly since  morning.  It  takes  some  hours  to  get  a  room  warm, 


HOW   WE  KEPT   THANKSGIVING   AT   OLDTOWN.  847 

where  a  family  never  sits,  and  which  therefore  has  not  in  its  walls 
one  particle  of  the  genial  vitality  which  comes  from  the  in-dwell- 
ing of  human  beings.  But  on  Thanksgiving  day,  at  least,  every 
year,  this  marvel  was  effected  in  our  best  room. 

Although  all  servile  labor  and  vain  recreation  on  this  day  were 
by  law  forbidden,  according  to  the  terms  of  the  proclamation,  it 
was  not  held  to  be  a  violation  of  the  precept,  that  all  the  nice  old 
aunties  should  bring  their  knitting-work  and  sit  gently  trotting 
their  needles  around  the  fire  ;  nor  that  Uncle  Bill  should  start 
a  full-fledged  romp  among  the  girls  and  children,  while  the  din- 
ner was  being  set  on  the  long  table  in  the  neighboring  kitchen. 
Certain  of  the  good  elderly  female  relatives,  of  serious  and  dis- 
creet demeanor,  assisted  at  this  operation. 

But  who  shall  do  justice  to  the  dinner,  and  describe  the 
turkey,  and  chickens,  and  chicken  pies,  with  all  that  endless 
variety  of  vegetables  which  the  American  soil  and  climate  have 
contributed  to  the  table,  and  which,  without  regard  to  the  French 
doctrine  of  courses,  were  all  piled  together  in  jovial  abundance 
upon  the  smoking  board  ?  There  was  much  carving  and  laugh- 
ing and  talking  and  eating,  and  all  showed  that  cheerful  ability 
to  despatch  the  provisions  which  was  the  ruling  spirit  of  the  hour. 
After  the  meat  came  the  plum-puddings,  and  then  the  endless 
array  of  pies,  till  human  nature  was  actually  bewildered  and 
overpowered  by  the  tempting  variety  ;  and  even  we  children 
turned  from  the  profusion  offered  to  us,  and  wondered  what 
was  the  matter  that  we  could  eat  no  more. 

When  all  was  over,  my  grandfather  rose  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  and  a  fine  venerable  picture  he  made  as  he  stood  there, 
bis  silver  hair  flowing  in  curls  down  each  side  of  his  clear,  calm 
face,  while,  in  conformity  to  the  old  Puritan  custom,  he  called 
their  attention  to  a  recital  of  the  mercies  of  God  in  his  dealings 
with  their  family. 

It  was  a  sort  of  family  history,  going  over  and  touching  upon 
the  various  events  which  had  happened.  He  spoke  of  my  father's 
death,  and  gave  a  tribute  to  his  memory;  and  closed  all  with 
the  application  of  a  time-honored  text,  expressing  the  hope  that 
as  years  passed  by  we  might  "  so  number  our  days  as  to  apply 


348  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

our  hearts  unto  wisdom " ;  and  then  he  gave  out  that  psalm 
which  in  those  days  might  be  called  the  national  hymn  of  the 
Puritans. 

"  Let  children  hear  the  mighty  deeds 

Which  God  performed  of  old, 
Which  in  our  younger  years  we  saw, 
And  Avhich  our  fathers  told. 

"  He  bids  us  make  his  glories  known, 

His  works  of  power  and  grace. 
And  we  '11  convey  his  wonders  down 
Through  every  rising  race. 

"  Our  lips  shall  tell  them  to  our  sons, 

And  they  again  to  theirs ; 
That  generations  yet  unborn 
May  teach  them  to  their  heirs. 

"  Thus  shall  they  learn  in  God  alone 

Their  hope  securely  stands ; 
That  they  may  ne'er  forget  his  works, 
But  practise  his  commands." 

This  we  all  united  in  singing  to  the  venerable  tune  of  St.  Mar- 
tin's, an  air  which,  the  reader  will  perceive,  by  its  multiplicity  of 
quavers  and  inflections  gave  the  greatest  possible  scope  to  the 
cracked  and  trembling  voices  of  the  ancients,  who  united  in  it 
with  even  more  zeal  than  the  younger  part  of  the  community. 

Uncle  Fliakim  Sheril,  furbished  up  in  a  new  crisp  black  suit, 
and  with  his  spindle-shanks  trimly  incased  in  the  smoothest  of 
black  silk  stockings,  looking  for  all  the  world  just  like  an  alert 
and  spirited  black  cricket,  outdid  himself  on  this  occasion  in  sing- 
ing counter,  in  that  high,  weird  voice  that  he  must  have  learned 
from  the  wintry  winds  that  usually  piped  around  the  corners  of 
the  old  house.  But  any  one  who  looked  at  him,  as  he  sat  with 
his  eyes  closed,  beating  time  with  head  and  hand,  and,  in  short, 
with  every  limb  of  his  body,  must  have  perceived  the  exquisite 
satisfaction  which  he  derived  from  this  mode  of  expressing 
himself.  I  much  regret  to  be  obliged  to  state  that  my  graceless 
Uncle  Bill,  taking  advantage  of  the  fact  that  the  eyes  of  all  his 
elders  were  devotionally  closed,  stationing  himself  a  little  in  the 
rear  of  my  Uncle  Fliakim,  performed  an  exact  imitation  of  his 


HOW   WE  KEPT   THANKSGIVING   AT   OLDTOWN.          349 

counter,  with  such  a  killing  facility  that  all  the  younger  part 
of  the  audience  were  nearly  dead  with  suppressed  laughter. 
Aunt  Lois,  who  never  shut  her  eyes  a  moment  on  any  occa- 
sion, discerned  this  from  a  distant  part  of  the  room,  and  in  vain 
endeavored  to  stop  it  by  vigorously  shaking  her  head  at  the 
offender.  She  might  as  well  have  shaken  it  at  a  bobolink  tilt- 
ing on  a  clover-top.  In  fact,  Uncle  Bill  was  Aunt  Lois's  weak 
point,  and  the  corners  of  her  own  mouth  were  observed  to  twitch 
in  such  a  suspicious  manner  that  the  whole  moral  force  of  her 
admonition  was  destroyed. 

And  now,  the  dinner  being  cleared  away,  we  youngsters, 
already  excited  to  a  tumult  of  laughter,  tumbled  into  the  best 
room,  under  the  supervision  of  Uncle  Bill,  to  relieve  ourselves 
with  a  game  of  "  blind-man's-buff,"  while  the  elderly  women 
washed  up  the  dishes  and  got  the  house  in  order,  and  the  men- 
folks  went  out  to  the  barn  to  look  at  the  cattle,  and  walked  over 
the  farm  and  talked  of  the  crops. 

In  the  evening  the  house  was  all  open  and  lighted  with  the  best 
of  tallow  candles,  which  Aunt  Lois  herself  had  made  with  especial 
care  for  this  illumination.  It  was  understood  that  we  were  to 
have  a  dance,  and  black  Caesar,  full  of  turkey  and  pumpkin  pie, 
and  giggling  in  the  very  jollity  of  his  heart,  had  that  afternoon 
rosined  his  bow,  and  tuned  his  fiddle,  and  practised  jigs  and  Vir- 
ginia reels,  in  a  way  that  made  us  children  think  him  a  perfect 
Orpheus. 

As  soon  as  the  candles  were  lighted  came  in  Miss  Mehitable 
with  her  brother  Jonathan,  and  Tina,  like  a  gay  little  tassel, 
hanging  on  her  withered  arm. 

Mr.  Jonathan  Eossiter  was  a  tall,  well-made  man,  with  a  clear- 
cut,  aquiline  profile,  and  high  round  forehead,  from  which  his 
powdered  hair  was  brushed  smoothly  back  and  hung  down  be- 
hind in  a  long  cue-  His  eyes  were  of  a  piercing  dark  gray,  with 
that  peculiar  expression  of  depth  and  intensity  which  marks  a 
melancholy  temperament.  He  had  a  large  mouth,  which  he 
kept  shut  with  an  air  of  firmness  that  suggested  something  even 
hard  and  dictatorial  in  his  nature.  He  was  quick  and  alert  in 
all  his  movements,  and  his  eyes  had  a  searching  quickness  of 


350  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

observation,  which  seemed  to  lose  nothing  of  what  took  place 
around  him.  There  was  an  air  of  breeding  and  self-command 
about  him ;  and  in  all  his  involuntary  ways  he  bore  the  appear- 
ance of  a  man  more  interested  to  make  up  a  judgment  of  others 
than  concerned  as  to  what  their  judgment  might  be  about  himself. 

Miss  Mehitable  hung  upon  his  arm  with  an  evident  admiration 
and  pride,  which  showed  that  when  he  came  he  made  summer 
at  least  for  her. 

After  them  soon  arrived  the  minister  and  his  lady,  —  she  in  a 
grand  brocade  satin  dress,  open  in  front  to  display  a  petticoat 
brocaded  with  silver  flowers.  With  her  well-formed  hands  shin- 
ing out  of  a  shimmer  of  costly  lace,  and  her  feet  propped  on  high- 
heeled  shoes,  Lady  Lothrop  justified  the  prestige  of  good  society 
which  always  hung  about  her.  Her  lord  and  master,  in  the 
spotless  whiteness  of  his  ruffles  on  wrist  and  bosom,  and  in  the 
immaculate  keeping  and  neatness  of  all  his  clerical  black,  and 
the  perfect  pose  of  his  grand  full-bottomed  clerical  wig,  did  honor 
to  her  conjugal  cares.  They  moved  through  the  room  like  a 
royal  prince  and  princess,  with  an  appropriate,  gracious,  well- 
considered  word  for  each  and  every  one.  They  even  returned, 
with  punctilious  civility,  the  awe-struck  obeisance  of  black 
Caesar,  who  giggled  over  straightway  with  joy  and  exultation  at 
the  honor. 

But  conceive  of  my  Aunt  Lois's  pride  of  heart,  when,  follow- 
ing in  the  train  of  these  august  persons,  actually  came  Ellery 
Davenport,  bringing  upon  his  arm  Miss  Deborah  Kittery.  Here 
was  a  situation  !  Had  the  whole  island  of  Great  Britain  waded 
across  the  Atlantic  Ocean  to  call  on  Bunker  Hill,  the  circum- 
stance could  scarcely  have  seemed  to  her  more  critical. 

"Mercy  on  us!"  she  thought  to  herself,  "all  these  Epis- 
copalians coming !  I  do  hope  mother  '11  be  careful ;  I  hope  she 
won't  feel  it  necessary  to  give  them  a  piece  of  her  mind,  as  she 's 
always  doing." 

Miss  Deborah  Kittery,  however,  knew  her  soundings,  and 
was  too  genuine  an  Englishwoman  not  to  know  that  "  every 
man's  house  is  his  castle,"  and  that  one  must  respect  one's 
neighbor's  opinions  on  his  own  ground. 


HOW   WE  KEPT   THANKSGIVING  AT   OLDTOWN.          351 

As  to  my  grandmother,  her  broad  and  buxom  heart  on  this 
evening  was  so  full  of  motherliness,  that  she  could  have  patted 
the  very  King  of  England  on  the  head,  if  he  had  been  there, 
and  comforted  his-  soul  with  the  assurance  that  she  supposed  he 
meant  well,  though  he  did  n't  exactly  know  how  to  manage ;  so, 
although  she  had  a  full  consciousness  that  Miss  Deborah  Kit- 
tery  had  turned  all  America  over  to  uncovenanted  mercies,  she 
nevertheless  shook  her  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  told  her  she 
hoped  she'd  make  herself  at  home.  And  I  think  she  would 
have  done  exactly  the  same  by  the  Pope  of  Rome  himself,  if  that 
poor  heathen  sinner  had  presented  himself  on  Thanksgiving 
evening.  So  vast  and  billowy  was  the  ocean  of  her  loving-kind- 
ness, and  so  firmly  were  her  feet  planted  on  the  rock  of  the  Cam- 
bridge Platform,  that  on  it  she  could  stand  breathing  prayers  for 
all  Jews,  Turks,  Infidels,  Tories,  Episcopalians,  and  even  Roman 
Catholics.  The  very  man  that  burnt  Mr.  John  Rogers  might 
have  had  a  mug  of  cider  in  the  kitchen  on  this  evening,  with  an 
exhortation  to  go  and  sin  no  more. 

You  may  imagine  the  astounding  wassail  among  the  young 
people,  when  two  such  spirits  as  Ellery  Davenport  and  my 
Uncle  Bill  were  pushing  each  other  on,  in  one  house.  My 
Uncle  Bill  related  the  story  of  "  the  Wry-mouth  Family,"  with 
such  twists  and  contortions  and  killing  extremes  of  the  ludi- 
crous as  perfectly  overcame  even  the  minister ;  and  he  was  to 
be  seen,  at  one  period  of  the  evening,  with  a  face  purple  with 
laughter,  and  the  tears  actually  rolling  down  over  his  well-formed 
cheeks,  while  some  of  the  more  excitable  young  people  almost 
fell  in  trances,  and  rolled  on  the  floor  in  the  extreme  of  their 
merriment.  In  fact,  the  assemblage  was  becoming  so  tumultu- 
ous, that  the  scrape  of  Caesar's  violin,  and  the  forming  of  sets  for 
a  dance,  seemed  necessary  to  restore  the  peace. 

Whenever  or  wherever  it  was  that  the  idea  of  the  sinfulness 
of  dancing  arose  in  New  England,  I  know  not ;  it  is  a  certain 
fact  that  at  Oldtow^  at  this  time,  the  presence  of  the  minister 
and  his  lady  was  held  not  to  be  in  the  slightest  degree  incom- 
patible with  this  amusement.  I  appeal  to  many  of  my  readers, 
if  they  or  their  parents  could  not  recall  a  time  in  New  England 


352  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

when  in  all  the  large  towns  dancing  assemblies  used  to  be 
statedly  held,  at  which  the  minister  and  his  lady,  though  never 
uniting  in  the  dance,  always  gave  an  approving  attendance,  and 
where  all  the  decorous,  respectable  old  church-members  brought 
their  children,  and  stayed  to  watch  an  amusement  in  which  they 
no  longer  actively  partook.  No  one  looked  on  with  a  more  placid 
and  patronizing  smile  than  Dr.  Lothrop  and  his  lady,  as  one  after 
another  began  joining  the  exercise,  which,  commencing  first  with 
the  children  and  young  people,  crept  gradually  upwards  among 
the  elders. 

Uncle  Bill  would  insist  on  leading  out  Aunt  Lois,  and  the 
bright  color  rising  to  her  thin  cheeks  brought  back  a  fluttering 
image  of  what  might  have  been  beauty  in  some  fresh,  early 
day.  Ellery  Davenport  insisted  upon  leading  forth  Miss  Deb- 
orah Kittery,  notwithstanding  her  oft-repeated  refusals  and 
earnest  protestations  to  the  contrary.  As  to  Uncle  Fliakim, 
he  jumped  and  frisked  and  gyrated  among  the  single  sisters 
and  maiden  aunts,  whirling  them  into  the  dance  as  if  he  had 
been  the  little  black  gentleman  himself.  With  that  true  spirit 
of  Christian  charity  which  marked  all  his  actions,  he  invariably 
chose  out  the  homeliest  and  most  neglected,  and  thus  worthy 
Aunt  Keziah,  dear  old  soul,  was  for  a  time  made  quite  promi- 
nent by  his  attentions. 

Of  course  the  dances  in  those  days  were  of  a  strictly  moral 
nature.  The  very  thought  of  one  of  the  round  dances  of  modern 
times  would  have  sent  Lady  Lothrop  behind  her  big  fan  in 
helpless  confusion,  and  exploded  my  grandmother  like  a  full- 
charged  arsenal  of  indignation.  As  it  was,  she  stood,  her  broad, 
pleased  face  radiant  with  satisfaction,  as  the  wave  of  joyous- 
ness  crept  up  higher  and  higher  round  her,  till  the  elders,  who 
stood  keeping  time  with  their  heads  and  feet,  began  to  tell  one 
another  how  they  had  danced  with  their  sweethearts  in  good 
old  days  gone  by,  and  the  elder  women  began  to  blush  and 
bridle,  and  boast  of  steps  that  they  could  take  in  their  youth, 
till  the  music  finally  subdued  them,  and  into  the  dance  they 
went. 

"Well,  well!"  quoth  my  grandmother;  "they're  all  at  it  so 


HOW  WE  KEPT  THANKSGIVING  AT   OLDTOWN.          353 

hearty,  I  don't  see  why  I  should  n't  try  it  myself."  And  into  the 
Virginia  reel  she  went,  amid  screams  of  laughter  from  all  the 
younger  members  of  the  company. 

But  I  assure  you  my  grandmother  was  not  a  woman  to  be 
laughed  at ;  for  whatever  she  once  set  on  foot,  she  "  put  through  " 
with  a  sturdy  energy  befitting  a  daughter  of  the  Puritans. 

"  Why  should  n't  I  dance  ? "  she  said,  when  she  arrived  red 
and  resplendent  at  the  bottom  of  the  set.  "  Did  n't  Mr.  De- 
spondency and  Miss  Muchafraid  and  Mr.  Readytohalt  all  dance 
together  in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  ?  "  —  and  the  minister  in  his 
ample  flowing  wig,  and  my  lady  in  her  stiff  brocade,  gave  to  my 
grandmother  a  solemn  twinkle  of  approbation. 

As  nine  o'clock  struck,  the  whole  scene  dissolved  and  melted ; 
for  what  well-regulated  village  would  think  of  carrying  festivities 
beyond  that  hour  ? 

And  so  ended  our  Thanksgiving  at  Oldtown. 


354  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

THE   KAID    ON   OLDTOWN,   AND    UNCLE   FLIAKIM'S   BRAVERY. 

rilHE  next  morning  after  Thanksgiving,  life  resumed  its  usual 
-*-  hard,  laborious  course,  with  a  sharp  and  imperative  reac- 
tion, such  as  ensues  when  a  strong  spring,  which  has  been  for 
some  time  held  back,  is  suddenly  let  fly  again. 

Certainly  Aunt  Lois  appeared  to  be  astir  fully  an  hour  earlier 
than  usual,  and  dispelled  all  our  golden  visions  of  chicken  pies 
and  dancings  and  merry-makings,  by  the  flat,  hard  summons  of 
every-day  life.  We  had  no  time  to  become  demoralized  and 
softened. 

Breakfast  this  next  morning  was  half  an  hour  in  advance  of 
the  usual  time,  because  Aunt  Lois  was  under  some  vague  impres- 
sion of  infinite  disturbances  in  the  house,  owing  to  the  latitude  of 
the  last  two  weeks,  and  of  great  furbishings  and  repairs  to  be 
done  in  the  best  room,  before  it  could  be  again  shut  up  and  con- 
demned to  silence. 

While  we  were  eating  our  breakfast,  Sam  Lawson  came  in, 
with  an  air  of  great  trepidation. 

"  Lordy  massy,  Mis'  Badger !  what  do  you  s'pose  has  hap- 
pened ?  "  he  exclaimed,  holding  up  his  hands.  "  Wai !  if  I  ever 
—  no,  I  never  did ! "  —  and,  before  an  explanation  could  be 
drawn  out  of  him,  in  fluttered  Uncle  Fliakim,  and  began  dancing 
an  indignant  rigadoon  round  the  kitchen. 

"  Perfectly  abominable  !  the  selectmen  ought  to  take  it  up !  " 
he  exclaimed,  —  "  ought  to  make  a  State  affair  of  it,  and  send  to 
the  Governor." 

"  Do  for  mercy's  sake,  Fliakim,  sit  down,  and  tell  us  what  the 
matter  is,"  said  my  grandmother. 

"  I  can't !  I  can't ! !  I  can't ! ! !  I  've  just  got  to  hitch  right  up 
and  go  on  after  'em ;  and  mebbe  I  '11  catch  'em  before  they  get 
over  the  State  line.  I  just  wanted  to  borrow  your  breech-band, 


THE  RAID   ON  OLDTOWN.  355 

'cause  ours  is  broke.  Where  is  it  ?  Is  it  out  in  the  barn,  or 
where  ?  " 

By  this  time  we  had  all  arisen  from  table,  and  stood  looking 
at  one  another,  while  Uncle  Fliakim  had  shot  out  of  the  back 
door  toward  the  barn.  Of  course  our  information  must  now  be 
got  out  of  Sam  Lawson. 

"  "Wai,  you  see,  Deacon,  who  ever  would  ha'  thought  of  it  ? 
They've  took  every  child  on  'em,  every  one  !  " 

"  Who 's  taken  ?  what  children  ?  "  said  my  grandmother.  "  Do 
pray  begin  at  the  right  end  of  your  story,  and  not  come  in  here 
scaring  a  body  to  death." 

"Wai,  it's  Aunt  Nancy  Prime's  children.  Last  night  the 
kidnappers  come  to  her  house  an'  took  her  an'  every  single  one 
of  the  child'en,  an'  goin'  to  carry  'em  off  to  York  State  for 
slaves.  Jake  Marshall,  he  was  round  to  our  house  this  mornin', 
an'  told  me  'bout  it.  Jake,  he  ?d  ben  over  to  keep  Thanksgivin', 
over  t'  Aunt  Sally  Proddy's ;  an'  way  over  by  the  ten-mile  tah- 
vern  he  met  the  waggin,  an'  Aunt  Nancy,  she  called  out  to  him, 
an'  he  heerd  one  of  the  fellers  swear  at  her.  The'  was  two  fellers 
in  the  waggin,  an'  they  was  a  drivin'  like  mad,  an'  I  jest  come 
runnin'  down  to  Mr.  Sheril's,  'cause  I  know  his  horse  never  gits 
out  of  a  canter,  an'  's  pretty  much  used  to  bein'  twitched  up  sudden. 
But,  Lordy  massy,  s'posin'  he  could  ketch  up  with  'em,  what 
could  he  do  ?  He  could  n't  much  more  'n  fly  at  'em  like  an  old 
hen ;  so  I  don't  see  what 's  to  be  done." 

"  Well,"  said  my  grandfather,  rising  up,  "  if  that 's  the  case, 
it 's  time  we  should  all  be  on  the  move ;  and  I  '11  go  right  over  to 
Israel  Scran's,  and  he  and  his  two  sons  and  I  '11  go  over,  and  I 
guess  there'll  be  enough  of  us  to  teach  them  reason.  These 
kidnappers  always  make  for  the  New  York  State  line.  Boys, 
you  go  out  and  tackle  the  old  mare,  and  have  our  wagon  round 
to  the  house ;  and,  if  Fliakim's  wagon  will  hold  together,  the  two 
will  just  carry  the  party." 

"  Lordy  massy  !  I  should  like  to  go  'long  too,"  said  Sam  Law- 
son.  "  I  hain't  got  no  special  business  to-day  but  what  could  be 
put  off  as  well  as  not." 

"  You  never  do  have,"  said  Aunt  Lois.  "  That 's  the  trouble 
with  you." 


356  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  Wai,  I  was  a  thinkin',"  said  Sam,  "  that  Jake  and  me  hes 
been  over  them  roads  so  often,  and  we  kind  o'  know  all  the  ups 
an'  downs  an'  cross-roads.  Then  we 's  pretty  intimate  with  some 
o'  them  Injun  fellers,  an'  ye  git  them  sot  out  on  a  trail  arter  a 
body,  they 's  like  a  huntin'  dog." 

"  Well,  father,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  I  think  it 's  quite  likely  that 
Sam  may  be  right  here.  He  certainly  knows  more  about  such 
things  than  any  decent,  industrious  man  ought  to,  and  it 's  a  pity 
you  should  n't  put  him  to  some  use  when  you  can." 

"  Jes'  so  !  "  said  Sam.  "  Now,  there 's  reason  in  that  'ere ;  an' 
I  '11  jes'  go  over  to  Israel's  store  with  the  Deacon.  Yeh  see  ye 
can't  take  both  the  boys,  'cause  one  on  'em  '11  have  to  stay  and 
tend  the  store ;  but  I  tell  you  what  't  is,  I  ain't  no  bad  of  a 
hand  a  hittin'  a  lick  at  kidnappers.  I  could  pound  on  'em  as 
willingly  as  ever  I  pounded  a  horseshoe ;  an'  a  woman 's  a 
woman,  an'  child'en  's  child'en,  ef  they  be  black ;  that 's  jes'  my 
'pinion." 

"  Sam,  you  're  a  good  fellow,"  said  my  grandmother,  approv- 
ingly. "  But  come,  go  right  along." 

Here,  now,  was  something  to  prevent  the  wave  of  yesterday's 
excitement  from  flatting  down  into  entire  insipidity. 

Harry  and  I  ran  over  instantly  to  tell  Tina ;  and  Tina  with 
all  her  eloquence  set  it  forth  to  Miss  Mehitable  and  Polly,  and 
we  gave  vent  to  our  emotions  by  an  immediate  rush  to  the  gar- 
ret and  a  dramatic  representation  of  the  whole  scene  of  the 
rescue,  conducted  with  four  or  five  of  Tina's  rag-dolls  and  a 
little  old  box  wagon,  with  which  we  cantered  and  re-cantered' 
across  the  garret  floor  in  a  way  that  would  have  been  intolerable 
to  any  less  patient  and  indulgent  person  than  Miss  Mehitable. 

The  fact  is,  however,  that  she  shared  in  the  universal  ex- 
citement to  such  a  degree,  that  she  put  on  her  bonnet  immedi- 
ately, and  rushed  over  to  the  minister's  to  give  vent  to  her  feel- 
ings, while  Polly,  coming  up  garret,  shouldered  one  of  the  guns 
lovingly,  and  declared  she'd  "  like  nothing  better  than  to  fire  it 
off  at  one  o'  them  fellers  "  ;  and  then  she  told  us  how,  in  her 
young  days,  where  she  was  brought  up  in  Maine,  the  painters 
(panthers)  used  to  come  round  their  log  cabin  at  night,  and  howl 


THE  KAID   ON   OLDTOWN. 


357 


and  growl ;  and  how  they  always  had  to  keep  the  guns  loaded ; 
and  how  once  her  mother,  during  her  father's  absence,  had  treed 
a  painter,  and  kept  him  up  in  his  perch  for  hours  by  threatening 
him  whenever  he  offered  to  come  down,  until  her  husband  came 
home  and  shot  him. 

Pretty  stanch,  reliant  blood,  about  those  times,  flowed  in  the 
bosoms  of  the  women  of  New  England,  and  Polly  relieved  the 
excitement  of  her  mind  this  morning  by  relating  to  us  story 
after  story  of  the  wild  forest  life  of  her  early  days. 

"While  Polly  was  thus  giving  vent  to  her  emotions  at  home, 
Miss  Mehitable  had  produced  a  corresponding  excitement  in  the 
minister's  family.  Ellery  Davenport  declared  his  prompt  in- 
tention of  going  up  and  joining  the  pursuing  party,  as  he  was 
young  and  strong,  with  all  his  wits  about  him ;  and,  with  the 
prestige  of  rank  in  the  late  Revolutionary  war,  such  an  accession 
to  the  party  was  of  the  greatest  possible  importance.  As  to 
Miss  Deborah  Kittery,  she  gave  it  as  her  opinion  that  such 
uprisings  against  law  and  order  were  just  what  was  to  be 
expected  in  a  democracy.  "The  lower  classes,  my  dear,  you 
know,  need  to  be  kept  down  with  a  strong  hand,"  she  said  with 
an  instructive  nod  of  the  head  ;  "  and  I  think  we  shall  find  that 
there  's  no  security  in  the  way  things  are  going  on  now." 

Miss  Mehitable  and  the  minister  listened  with  grave  amuse- 
ment while  the  worthy  lady  thus  delivered  herself;  and,  as  they 
did  not  reply,  she  had  the  comfort  of  feeling  that  she  had  given 
lem  something  to  think  of. 

All  the  village,  that  day,  was  in  a  ferment  of  expectation ;  for 
Aunt  Nancy  was  a  general  favorite  in  all  the  families  round,  and 
was  sent  for  in  case  of  elections  or  weddings  or  other  high 
merry-makings,  so  that  meddling  with  her  was  in  fact  taking 
away  part  of  the  vested  property  of  Oldtown.  The  loafers 
who  tilted,  with  their  heels  uppermost,  on  the  railings  of  the 
tavern  veranda,  talked  stringently  of  State  rights,  and  some 
were  of  opinion  that  President  Washington  ought  to  be  ap- 
'ised  of  the  fact  without  loss  of  time.  My  grandmother  went 
)out  house  in  a  state  of  indignation  all  day,  declaring  it  was 
pretty  state  of  things,  to  be  sure,  and  that,  next  they  should 


358  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

know,  they  should  wake  up  some  morning  and  find  that  Cassar 
had  been  gobbled  up  in  the  night  and  run  off  with.  But  Harry 
and  I  calmed  the  fears  which  this  seemed  to  excite  in  his  breast, 
by  a  vivid  description  of  the  two  guns  over  in  Miss  Mehitable's 
garret,  and  of  the  use  that  we  should  certainly  make  of  them  in 
case  of  an  attack  on  Ca3sar. 

The  chase,  however,  was  conducted  with  such  fire  and  ardor 
that  before  moonrise  on  the  same  night  the  captives  were 
brought  back  in  triumph  to  Oldtown  village,  and  lodged  for 
safe-keeping  in  my  grandmother's  house,  who  spared  nothing  in 
their  entertainment. 

A  happy  man  was  Sam  Lawson  that  evening,  as  he  sat  in  the 
chimney-corner  and  sipped  his  mug  of  cider,  and  recounted  his 
adventures. 

"  Lordy  massy !  well,  't  was  providential  we  took  Colonel 
Devenport  'long  with  us,  I  tell  you  ;  he  talked  to  them  fellers  in 
a  way  that  made  'em  shake  in  their  shoes.  Why,  Lordy  massy, 
when  we  fust  came  in  sight  on  'em,  Mr.  Sheril  an'  me,  we  wus 
in  the  foremost  waggin,  an'  we  saw  'em  before  us  just  as  we  got  to 
the  top  of  a  long,  windin'  hill,  an'  I  tell  you  if  they  did  n't  whip 
up  an'  go  lickity-split  down  that  'ere  hill,  —  I  tell  you,  they  rat- 
tled them  child'en  as  ef  they  'd  ben  so  many  punkins,  an'  I  tell 
you  one  of  'em  darned  old  young-uns  flew  right  over  the  side  of 
the  waggin,  an'  jest  picked  itself  up  as  lively  as  a  cricket,  an' 
never  cried.  We  did  n't  stop  to  take  it  up,  but  jes'  kep'  right 
along  arter ;  an'  Mr.  Sheril,  he  hollers  out,  '  Whoa !  whoa !  stop ! 
stop  thief!'  as  loud  as  he  could  yell;  but  they  jes'  laughed 
at  him ;  but  Colonel  Devenport,  he  come  ridin'  by  on  horseback, 
like  thunder,  an'  driv'  right  by  'em,  an'  then  turned  round  an' 
charged  down  on  their  horses  so  it  driv'  'em  right  out  the  road, 
an'  the  waggin  was  upsot,  an'  the  fellers,  they  were  pitched  out, 
an'  in  a  minute  Colonel  Devenport  had  one  on  'em  by  the  collar 
an'  his  pistol  right  out  to  the  head  o'  t'other.  '  Now,'  ses  he,  '  if 
you  stir  you  're  a  dead  man ! ' 

"  Wai,  Mr.  Sheril,  he  made  arter  the  other  one,  —  he  always 
means  mighty  well,  Mr.  Sheril  does,  —  he  gin  a  long  jump,  he 
did,  an'  he  lit  right  in  the  middle  of  a  tuft  of  blackberry-bushes, 


THE  RAID   ON   OLDTOWN.  359 

an'  tore  his  breeches  as  ef  the  heavens  an'  'arth  was  a  goin'  asun- 
der. Yeh  see,  they  never  'd  a  got  'em  ef  't  had  n't  ben  for 
Colonel  Devenport.  He  kep'  the  other  feller  under  range  of  his 
pistol,  an'  told  him  he  'd  shoot  him  ef  he  stirred ;  an'  the  feller, 
he  was  scart  to  death,  an'  he  roared  an'  begged  for  mercy  in  a 
way  't  would  ha'  done  your  heart  good  to  hear. 

"  Wai,  wal !  the  upshot  on 't  all  was,  when  Israel  Scran  come 
down  with  his  boy  (they  was  in  the  back  waggin),  they  got  out 
the  ropes  an'  tied  'em  up  snug,  an'  have  ben  a  fetchin'  on  'em 
along  to  jail,  where  I  guess  they  '11  have  one  spell  o'  considerin 
their  ways.  But,  Lordy  massy,  yeh  never  see  such  a  sight  as 
your  uncle's  breeches  wus.  Mis'  Sheril,  she  says  she  never  see 
the  beater  of  him  for  allus  goin'  off  in  his  best  clothes,  'cause, 
you  see,  he  heard  the  news  early,  an'  he  jes'  whips  on  his  Thanks- 
givin'  clothes  an'  went  off  in  'em  just  as  he  was.  His  intentions 
is  allus  so  good.  It 's  a  pity,  though,  he  don't  take  more  time  to 
consider.  Now  I  think  folks  ought  to  take  things  more  moderate. 
Yeh  see,  these  folks  that  hurries  allus,  they  gits  into  scrapes,  is 
just  what  I  'm  allus  a  tellin'  Hepsy." 

"  Who  were  the  fellows,  do  you  know  ? "  said  my  grandmother. 

"  Wal,  one  on  'em  was  one  of  them  Hessians  that  come  over  in 
the  war  times,  —  he  is  a  stupid  crittur ;  but  the  other  is  Widdah 
Huldy  Miller's  son,  down  to  Black  Brook  there." 

"Do  tell,"  said  my  grandmother,  with  the  liveliest  concern; 
"  has  Eph  Miller  come  to  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes ! "  said  Sam,  "  it  Js  Eph,  sure  enough.  He  was  exalted 
to  heaven  in  p'int  o'  privilege,  but  he  took  to  drink  and  onstiddy 
ways  in  the  army,  and  now  here  he  is  in  jail.  I  tell  you,  I  tried 
to  set  it  home  to  Eph,  when  I  was  a  bringin'  on  him  home  in  the 
waggin,  but,  Lordy  massy,  we  don't  none  of  us  like  to  have  our 
sins  set  in  order  afore  us.  There  was  David,  now,  he  was  crank 
as  could  be  when  he  thought  Nathan  was  a  talkin'  about  other 
people's  sins.  Says  David,  *  The  man  that  did  that  shall  surely 
die ' ;  but  come  to  set  it  home,  and  say,  *  Thou  art  the  man,'  Da- 
vid caved  right  in.  *  Lordy  massy  bless  your  soul  and  body,  Na- 
than,' says  he,  '  I  don't  want  to  die.' " 

It  will  be  seen  by  these  edifying  moralizings  how  eminently 


860  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Scriptural  was  the  course  of  Sam's  mind.  In  fact,  his  turn  for 
long-winded,  pious  reflection  was  not  the  least  among  his  many 
miscellaneous  accomplishments. 

As  to  my  grandmother,  she  busied  herself  in  comforting  the 
hearts  of  Aunt  Nancy  and  the  children  with  more  than  they 
could  eat  of  the  relics  of  the  Thanksgiving  feast,  and  bidding 
them  not  to  be  down-hearted  nor  afeard  of  anything,  for  the 
neighbors  would  all  stand  up  for  them,  confirming  her  words 
with  well-known  quotations  from  the  Old  Testament,  to  the 
effect  that  "  the  triumphing  of  the  wicked  is  short,"  and  that 
"  evil-doers  shall  soon  be  cut  off  from  the  earth." 

This  incident  gave  Ellery  Davenport  a  wide-spread  popularity 
in  the  circles  of  Oldtown.  My  grandmother  was  predisposed  to 
look  on  him  with  complacency  as  a  grandson  of  President  Ed- 
wards, although  he  took,  apparently,  a  freakish  delight  in  shock- 
ing the  respectable  prejudices,  and  disappointing  the  reasonable 
expectations,  of  people  in  this  regard,  by  assuming  in  every  con- 
versation precisely  the  sentiments  that  could  have  been  least 
expected  of  him  in  view  of  such  a  paternity. 

In  fact,  Ellery  Davenport  was  one  of  those  talkers  who  de- 
light to  maintain  the  contrary  of  every  proposition  started,  and 
who  enjoy  the  bustle  and  confusion  which  they  thus  make  in 
every  circle. 

In  good,  earnest,  intense  New  England,  where  every  idea  was 
taken  up  and  sifted  with  serious  solemnity,  and  investigated  with 
a  view  to  an  immediate  practical  action  upon  it  as  true  or  false, 
this  glittering,  fanciful  system  of  fencing  which  he  kept  up  on  all 
subjects,  maintaining  with  equal  brilliancy  and  ingenuity  this  to- 
day and  that  to-morrow,  might  possibly  have  drawn  down  upon 
a  man  a  certain  horror,  as  a  professed  scoffer  and  a  bitter  enemy 
of  all  that  is  good ;  but  Ellery  Davenport,  with  all  his  apparent 
carelessness,  understood  himself  and  the  world  he  moved  in  per- 
fectly. He  never  lost  sight  of  the  effect  he  was  producing  on  any 
mind,  and  had  an  intuitive  judgment,  in  every  situation,  of  ex- 
actly how  far  he  might  go  without  going  too  far. 

The  position  of  such  young  men  as  Ellery  Davenport,  in  the 
theocratic  state  of  society  in  New  England  at  this  time,  can  be 


THE  EAID   ON  OLDTOWN.  361 

understood  only  by  considering  the  theologic  movements  of  their 
period. 

The  colonists  who  founded  Massachusetts  were  men  whose 
doctrine  of  a  Christian  church  in  regard  to  the  position  of  its 
children  was  essentially  the  same  as  that  of  the  Church  of 
England.  Thus  we  find  in  Doctor  Cotton  Mather  this  state- 
ment :  — 

"  They  did  all  agree  with  their  brethren  at  Plymouth  in  this 
point :  that  the  children  of  the  faithful  were  church-members 
with  their  parents ;  and  that  their  baptism  was  a  seal  of  their 
being  so ;  only,  before  their  admission  to  fellowship  in  any  par- 
ticular church,  it  was  judged  necessary  that,  being  free  from 
scandal  in  life,  they  should  be  examined  by  the  elders  of  the 
church,  upon  whose  approbation  of  their  fitness  they  should 
publicly  and  personally  own  the  covenant,  and  so  be  received 
unto  the  table  of  the  Lord.  And  accordingly  the  eldest  son 
of  Mr.  Higginson,  being  about  fifteen  years  of  age,  and  laudably 
answering  all  the  characters  expected  in  a  communicant,  was 
then  so  received." 

The»colony  under  Governor  Winthrop  and  Thomas  Dudley 
was,  in  fact,  composed  of  men  in  all  but  political  opinion  warmly 
attached  to  the  Church  of  England;  and  they  published,  on 
their  departure,  a  tract  called  "The  Humble  Request  of  His 
Majesty's  Loyal  Subjects,  the  Governor  and  Company  lately 
gone  for  New  England,  for  the  Obtaining  of  their  Prayers,  and 
the  Removal  of  Suspicions  and  Misconstruction  of  their  Inten- 
tions " ;  and  in  this  address  they  called  the  Church  of  England 
their  dear  mother,  acknowledging  that  such  hope  and  part  as 
they  had  attained  in  the  common  salvation,  they  had  sucked 
from  her  breasts ;  and  entreating  their  many  reverend  fathers 
and  brethren  to  recommend  them  unto  the  mercies  of  God,  in 
their  constant  prayers,  as  a  church  now  springing  out  of  their 
own  bowels.  Originally,  thsrefore,  the  first  young  people  who 
grew  up  in  New  England  were  taught  in  their  earliest  childhood 
to  regard  themselves  as  already  members  of  the  church,  as  under 
obligations  to  comport  themselves  accordingly,  and  at  a  very  early 
age  it  was  expected  of  them  that  they  would  come  forward  by 

16 


862  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

their  own  act  and  confirm  the  action  of  their  parents  in  their  bap- 
tism, in  a  manner  much  the  same  in  general  effect  as  confirmation 
in  England.  The  immediate  result  of  this  was  much  sympathy 
on  the  part  of  the  children  and  young  people  with  the  religious 
views  of  their  parents,  and  a  sort  of  growing  up  into  them  from 
generation  to  generation.  But,  as  the  world  is  always  tending  to 
become  unspiritual  and  mechanical  in  its  views  and  sentiments, 
the  defect  of  the  species  of  religion  thus  engendered  was  a  want 
of  that  vitality  and  warmth  of  emotion  which  attend  the  convert 
whose  mind  has  come  out  of  darkness  into  marvellous  light,  — 
who  has  passed  through  interior  conflicts  which  have  agitated 
his  soul  to  the  very  depths.  So  there  was  always  a  party  in 
New  England  who  maintained  that  only  those  who  could  relate  a 
change  so  marked  as  to  be  characterized  as  supernatural  should 
hope  that  they  were  the  true  elect  of  God,  or  be  received  in 
churches  and  acknowledged  as  true  Christians. 

Many  pages  of  Cotton  Mather  record  the  earnest  attention 
which  not  only  the  ministers,  but  the  governors  and  magistrates, 
of  New  England,  in  her  early  days,  gave  to  the  question, 
"What  is  the  true  position  of  the  baptized  children* of  the 
Church  ?  "  and  Cotton  Mather,  who  was  warmly  in  favor  of  the 
Church  of  England  platform  in  this  respect,  says :  "  It  was  the 
study  of  those  prudent  men  who  might  be  called  our  seers,  that 
the  children  of  the  faithful  should  be  kept,  as  far  as  may  be, 
under  a  church  watch,  in  expectation  that  they  might  be  in  a 
fairer  way  to  receive  the  grace  of  God ;  so  that  the  prosperous 
condition  of  religion  in  our  churches  might  not  be  a  matter  of 
one  age  alone." 

Old  Cotton  waxes  warm  in  arguing  this  subject,  as  follows :  — 
"  The  Scriptures  tell  us  that  men's  denying  the  children  of  the 
Church  to  have  any  part  in  the  Lord  hath  a  strong  tendency  in  it 
to  make  them  cease  from  fearing  the  Lord,  and  harden  their 
hearts  from  his  fear.  But  the  awful  obligations  of  covenant 
interest  have  a  great  tendency  to  soften  the  heart  and  break  it, 
and  draw  it  home  to  God.  Hence,  when  the  Lord  would  power- 
fully win  men  to  obedience,  he  often  begins  with  this :  that  he 
is  their  God.  The  way  of  the  Anabaptists,  to  admit  none  unto 


THE  RAID   ON   OLDTOWN.  363 

membership  and  baptism  but  adult  professors,  is  the  straitest 
way.  One  would  think  it  should  be  a  way  of  great  purity,  but 
experience  hath  shown  that  it  has  been  an  inlet  unto  great  cor- 
ruption, and  a  troublesome,  dangerous  underminer  of  reformation." 

And  then  old  Cotton  adds  these  words,  certainly  as  explicit  as 
even  the  modern  Puseyite  could  desire  :  — 

"  If  we  do  not  keep  in  the  way  of  a  converting,  grace-giving 
covenant,  and  keep  persons  under  those  church  dispensations 
wherein  grace  is  given,  the  Church  will  die  of  a  lingering,  though 
not  a  violent  death.  The  Lord  hath  not  set  up  churches,  only 
that  a  few  old  Christians  may  keep  one  another  warm  while  they 
live  and  then  carry  away  the  Church  into  the  cold  grave  with 
them  when  they  die.  No;  but  that  they  might  with  all  care 
and  with  all  the  obligations  and  advantages  to  that  care  that 
may  be,  nurse  up  another  generation  of  subjects  to  our  Lord, 
that  may  stand  up  in  his  kingdom  when  they  are  gone." 

It  was  for  some  time  doubtful  whether  the  New  England 
Church  would  organize  itself  and  seek  its  own  perpetuation  on 
the  educational  basis  which  has  been  the  foundation  of  the  ma- 
jority of  the  Christian  Church  elsewhere ;  and  the  question 
was  decided,  as  such  society  questions  often  are,  by  the  vigor 
and  power  of  one  man.  Jonathan  Edwards,  a  man  who  united 
in  himself  the  natures  of  both  a  poet  and  a  metaphysician,  all 
whose  experiences  and  feelings  were  as  much  more  intense  than 
those  of  common  men  as  Dante's  or  Milton's,  fell  into  the  error 
of  making  his  own  constitutional  religious  experience  the  meas- 
ure and  standard  of  all  others,  and  revolutionizing  by  it  the  in- 
stitutions of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers. 

Regeneration,  as  he  taught  it  in  his  "  Treatise  on  the  Affec- 
tions," was  the  implantation  by  Divine  power  of  a  new  spiritual 
sense  in  the  soul,  as  diverse  from  all  the  other  senses  as  seeing 
is  from  hearing,  or  tasting  from  smelling.  No  one  that  had  not 
received  this  new,  divine,  supernatural  sense,  could  properly  be- 
long to  the  Church  of  Christ,  and  all  men,  until  they  did  receive 
it,  were  naturally  and  constitutionally  enemies  of  God  to  such  a 
degree,  that,  as  he  says  in  a  sermon  to  that  effect,  "  If  they  had 
God  in  their  power,  they  would  kill  him." 


364  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

It  was  his  power  and  his  influence  which  succeeded  in  com- 
pletely upsetting  New  England  from  the  basis  on  which  the 
Reformers  and  the  Puritan  Fathers  had  placed  her,  and  casting 
out  of  the  Church  the  children  of  the  very  saints  and  martyrs 
who  had  come  to  this  country  for  no  other  reason  than  to  found 
a  church. 

It  is  remarkable  that,  in  all  the  discussions  of  depravity  inher- 
ited from  Adam,  it  never  seemed  to  occur  to  any  theologian  that 
there  might  also  be  a  counter-working  of  the  great  law  of  de- 
scent, by  which  the  feelings  and  habits  of  thought  wrought  in  the 
human  mind  by  Jesus  Christ  might  descend  through  generations 
of  Christians,  so  that,  in  course  of  time,  many  might  be  born 
predisposed  to  good,  rather  than  to  evil.  Cotton  Mather  fear- 
lessly says  that  "  the  seed  of  the  Church  are  horn  holy,"  —  not,  of 
course,  meaning  it  in  a  strictly  theological  sense,  but  certainly 
indicating  that,  in  his  day,  a  mild  and  genial  spirit  of  hope 
breathed  over  the  cradle  of  infancy  and  childhood. 

Those  very  persons  whom  President  Edwards  addresses  in 
such  merciless  terms  of  denunciation  in  his  sermons,  telling  them 
that  it  is  a  wonder  the  sun  does  not  refuse  to  shine  upon  them,  — 
that  the  earth  daily  groans  to  open  under  them,  —  and  that  the 
wind  and  the  sun  and  the  waters  are  all  weary  of  them  and 
longing  to  break  forth  and  execute  the  wrath  of  God  upon  them, 
—  were  the  children  for  uncounted  generations  back  of  fathers 
and  mothers  nursed  in  the  bosom  of  the  Church,  trained  in 
habits  of  daily  prayer,  brought  up  to  patience  and  self-sacrifice 
and  self-denial  as  the  very  bread  of  their  daily  being,  and  lack- 
ing only  this  supernatural  sixth  sense,  the  want  of  which  brought 
upon  them  a  guilt  so  tremendous.  The  consequence  was,  that, 
immediately  after  the  time  of  President  Edwards,  there  grew  up 
in  the  very  bosom  of  the  New  England  Church  a  set  of  young 
people  who  were  not  merely  indifferent  to  religion,  but  who 
hated  it  with  the  whole  energy  of  their  being. 

Ellery  Davenport's  feeling  toward  the  Church  and  religion  had 
all  the  bitterness  of  the  disinherited  son,  who  likes  nothing  better 
than  to  point  out  the  faults  in  those  favored  children  who  enjoy 
the  privileges  of  which  he  is  deprived.  All  the  consequences 


THE  RAID   ON   OLDTOWN.  365 

that  good,  motherly  Cotton  .Mather  had  foreseen  as  likely  to 
result  from  the  proposed  system  of  arranging  the  Church  were 
strikingly  verified  in  his  case.  He  had  not  been  able  entirely 
to  rid  himself  of  a  belief  in  what  he  hated.  The  danger  of  all 
such  violent  recoils  from  the  religion  of  one's  childhood  consists 
in  this  fact,  —  that  the  person  is  always  secretly  uncertain  that 
he  may  not  be  opposing  truth  and  virtue  itself;  he  struggles 
confusedly  with  the  faith  of  his  mother,  the  prayers  of  his  fa- 
ther, with  whatever  there  may  be  holy  and  noble  in  the  profes- 
sion of  that  faith  from  which  he  has  broken  away;  and  few 
escape  a  very  serious  shock  to  conscience  and  their  moral  nature 
in  doing  it. 

Ellery  Davenport  was  at  war  with  himself,  at  war  with  the 
traditions  of  his  ancestry,  and  had  the  feeling  that  he  was  re- 
garded in  the  Puritan  community  as  an  apostate  ;  but  he  took  a 
perverse  pleasure  in  making  his  position  good  by  a  brilliancy  of 
wit  and  grace  of  manner  which  few  could  resist ;  and,  truth  to 
say,  his  success,  even  with  the  more  rigid,  justified  his  self-con- 
fidence. As  during  these  days  there  were  very  few  young  per- 
sons who  made  any  profession  of  religion  at  all,  the  latitude 
of  expression  which  he  allowed  himself  on  these  subjects  was 
looked  upon  as  a  sort  of  spiritual  sowing  of  wild  oats.  Heads 
would  be  gravely  shaken  over  him.  One  and  another  would 
say,  "  Ah !  that  Edwards  blood  is  smart ;  it  runs  pretty  wild  in 
youth,  but  the  Lord's  time  may  come  by  and  by  " ;  and  I  doubt 
not  that  my  grandmother  that  very  night,  before  she  slept, 
wrestled  with  God  in  prayer  for  his  soul  with  all  the  enthusiasm 
of  a  Monica  for  a  St.  Augustine. 

Meantime,  with  that  easy  facility  which  enabled  him  to  please 
everybody,  he  became,  during  the  course  of  a  somewhat  ex- 
tended visit  which  he  made  at  the  minister's,  rather  a  hero  in 
Oldtown.  What  Colonel  Davenport  said,  and  what  Colonel 
Davenport  did,  were  spoken  of  from  mouth  to  mouth.  Even  his 
wicked  wit  was  repeated  by  the  gravest  and  most  pious,  —  of 
course  with  some  expressions  of  disclaimer,  but,  after  all,  with 
that  genuine  pleasure  which  a  Yankee  never  fails  to  feel  in  any- 
thing smartly  and  neatly  hit  off  in  language. 


866  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

He  cultivated  a  great  friendship  with  Miss  Mehitable,  —  talk- 
ing with  her  of  books  and  literature  and  foreign  countries,  and 
advising  her  in  regard  to  the  education  of  Tina,  with  great 
unction  and  gravity.  With  that  little  princess  there  was  always 
a  sort  of  half  whimsical  flirtation,  as  she  demurely  insisted  on 
being  treated  by  him  as  a  woman,  rather  than  as  a  child,  —  a 
caprice  which  amused  him  greatly. 

Miss  Mehitable  felt  herself  irresistibly  drawn,  in  his  society,  as 
almost  everybody  else  was,  to  make  a  confidant  of  him.  He  was 
so  winning,  so  obliging,  so  gentle,  and  knew  so  well  just  where 
and  how  to  turn  the  conversation  to  avoid  anything  that  he 
did  n't  like  to  hear,  and  to  hear  anything  that  he  did.  So 
gently  did  his  fingers  run  over  the  gamut  of  everybody's  nature, 
that  nobody  dreamed  of  being  played  on. 

Such  men  are  not,  of  course,  villains ;  but,  if  they  ever  should 
happen  to  wish  to  become  so,  their  nature  gives  them  every 
facility. 

Before  she  knew  what  she  was  about,  Miss  Mehitable  found 
herself  talking  with  Ellery  Davenport  on  the  strange,  mysterious 
sorrow  which  imbittered  her  life,  and  she  found  a  most  sympa- 
thetic and  respectful  listener. 

Ellery  Davenport  was  already  versed  in  diplomatic  life,  and 
had  held  for  a  year  or  two  a  situation  of  importance  at  the  court 
of  France  ;  was  soon  to  return  thither,  and  also  to  be  employed 
on  diplomatic  service  in  England.  Could  he,  would  he,  find  any 
traces  of  the  lost  one  there  ?  On  this  subject  there  were  long, 
and,  on  the  part  of  Miss  Mehitable,  agitating  interviews,  which 
much  excited  Miss  Tina's  curiosity. 


MY   GRANDMOTHER'S  BLUE  BOOK.  867 

CHAPTER    XXIX. 

MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  BLUE  BOOK. 

READER,  this  is  to  be  a  serious  chapter,  and  I  advise  all 
those  people  who  want  to  go  through  the  world  without 
giving  five  minutes'  consecutive  thought  to  any  subject  to  skip  it. 
They  will  not  find  it  entertaining,  and  it  may  perhaps  lead 
them  to  think  on  puzzling  subjects,  even  for  so  long  a  time  as 
half  an  hour ;  and  who  knows  what  may  happen  to  their  brains, 
from,  so  unusual  an  exercise  ? 

My  grandmother,  as  I  have  shown,  was  a  character  in  her 
way,  full  of  contradictions  and  inconsistencies,  brave,  generous, 
energetic,  large-hearted,  and  impulsive.  Theoretically  she  was 
an  ardent  disciple  of  the  sharpest  and  severest  Calvinism,  and 
used  to  repeat  Michael  Wigglesworth's  "  Day  of  Doom  "  to  us  in 
the  chimney-corner,  of  an  evening,  with  a  reverent  acquiescence 
in  all  its  hard  sayings,  while  practically  she  was  the  most  pitiful, 
eapy-to-be-entreated  old  mortal  on  earth,  and  was  ever  falling 
a  prey  to  any  lazy  vagabond  who  chose  to  make  an  appeal  to 
her  abounding  charity.  She  could  not  refuse  a  beggar  that 
asked  in  a  piteous  tone ;  she  could  not  send  a  child  to  bed  that 
wanted  to  sit  up  ;  she  could  not  eat  a  meal  in  peace  when  there 
were  hungry  eyes  watching  her ;  she  could  not,  in  cool,  deliber- 
ate moments,  even  inflict  transient  and  necessary  pain  for  the 
greater  good  of  a  child,  and  resolutely  shut  her  eyes  to  the  neces- 
sity of  such  infliction.  But  there  lay  at  the  bottom  of  all  this 
apparent  inconsistency  a  deep  cause  that  made  it  consistent,  and 
that  cause  was  the  theologic  stratum  in  which  her  mind,  and  the 
mind  of  all  New  England,  was  embedded. 

Never,  in  the  most  intensely  religions  ages  of  the  world, 
did  the  insoluble  problem  of  the  WHENCE,  the  WHY,  and  the 
WHITHER  of  mankind  receive  such  earnest  attention,  New 
England  was  founded  by  a  colony  who  turned  their  backs  on  the 


368  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

civilization  of  the  Old  "World,  on  purpose  that  they  might  have 
nothing  else  to  think  of.  Their  object  was  to  form  a  community 
that  should  think  of  nothing  else. 

Working  on  a  hard  soil,  battling  with  a  harsh,  ungenial  cli- 
mate, everywhere  being  treated  by  Nature  with  the  most  rigorous 
severity,  they  asked  no  indulgence,  they  got  none,  and  they  gave 
none.  They  shut  out  from  their  religious  worship  every  poetic 
drapery,  every  physical  accessory  that  they  feared  would  inter- 
fere with  the  abstract  contemplation  of  hard,  naked  truth,  and  set 
themselves  grimly  and  determinately  to  study  the  severest  prob- 
lems of  the  unknowable  and  the  insoluble.  Just  as  resolutely  as 
they  made  their  farms  by  blasting  rocks  and  clearing  land  of 
ledges  of  stone,  and  founded  thrifty  cities  and  thriving  money- 
getting  communities  in  places  which  one  would  think  might 
more  properly  have  been  left  to  the  white  bears,  so  resolutely 
they  pursued  their  investigations  amid  the  grim  mysteries  of 
human  existence,  determined  to  see  and  touch  and  handle 
everything  for  themselves,  and  to  get  at  the  absolute  truth  if 
absolute  truth  could  be  got  at. 

They  never  expected  to  find  truth  agreeable.  Nothing  in  their 
experience  of  life  had  ever  prepared  them  to  think  it  would  be 
so.  Their  investigations  were  made  with  the  courage  of  the 
man  who  hopes  little,  but  determines  to  know  the  worst  of  his 
affairs.  They  wanted  no  smoke  of  incense  to  blind  them,  and  no 
soft  opiates  of  pictures  and  music  to  lull  them ;  for  what  they 
were  after  was  truth,  and  not  happiness,  and  they  valued  duty 
far  higher  than  enjoyment. 

The  underlying  foundation  of  life,  therefore,  in  New  England, 
was  one  of  profound,  unutterable,  and  therefore  unuttered,  mel- 
ancholy, which  regarded  human  existence  itself  as  a  ghastly 
risk,  and,  in  the  case  of  the  vast  majority  of  human  beings,  an 
inconceivable  misfortune. 

My  grandmother  believed  in  statements  which  made  the  fortu- 
nate number  who  escaped  the  great  catastrophe  of  mortal  life  as 
few  and  far  between  as  the  shivering,  half-drowned  mariners,  who 
crawl  up  on  to  the  shores  of  sonle  desert  island,  when  all  else 
on  board  have  perished.  In  this  view  she  regarded  the  birth 


MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  BLUE  BOOK.          869 

of  an  infant  with  a  suppressed  groan,  and  the  death  of  one  almost 
with  satisfaction.  That  more  than  half  the  human  race  die 
in  infancy,  —  that  infanticide  is  the  general  custom  in  so  many 
heathen  lands,  —  was  to  her  a  comforting  consideration,  for  so 
many  were  held  to  escape  at  once  the  awful  ordeal,  and  to  be 
gathered  into  the  numbers  of  the  elect. 

As  I  have  said,  she  was  a  great  reader.  On  the  round  table 
that  stood  in  her  bedroom,  next  to  the  kitchen,  there  was  an 
ample  supply  of  books.  Rollin's  Ancient  History,  Hume's  His- 
tory of  England,  and  President  Edwards's  Sermons,  were 
among  these. 

She  was  not  one  of  those  systematic,  skilful  housewives  who 
contrive  with  few  steps  and  great  method  to  do  much  in  little 
time ;  she  took  everything  the  hardest  end  first,  and  attacked 
difficulties  by  sheer  inconsiderate  strength.  For  example,  in- 
stead of  putting  on  the  great  family  pot,  filling  it  with  water, 
and  afterwards  putting  therein  the  beef,  pork,  and  vegetables  of 
our  daily  meal,  she  would  load  up  the  receptacle  at  the  sink  in 
the  back  room,  and  then,  with  strong  arm  and  cap-border  erect, 
would  fly  across  the  kitchen  with  it  and  swing  it  over  the  fire  by 
main  strength.  Thus  inconsiderately  she  rushed  at  the  daily 
battle  of  existence.  But  there  was  one  point  of  system  in  which 
she  never  failed.  There  was,  every  day,  a  period,  sacred  and 
inviolable,  which  she  gave  to  reading.  The  noon  meal  came 
exactly  at  twelve  o'clock ;  and  immediately  after,  when  the 
dishes  were  washed  and  wiped,  and  the  kitchen  reduced  to 
order,  my  grandmother  changed  her  gown,  and  retired  to  the 
sanctuary  of  her  bedroom  to  read.  In  this  way  she  accom- 
plished an  amount  which  a  modern  housekeeper,  with  four  ser- 
vants, would  pronounce  to  be  wholly  incredible. 

The  books  on  her  table  came  in  time  to  be  my  reading  as  well 
as  hers ;  for,  as  I  have  said,  reading  was  with  me  a  passion,  a 
hunger,  and  I  read  all  that  came  in  my  way. 

Her  favorite  books  had  different-colored  covers,  thriftily  put 

on  to  preserve  them  from  the  wear  of  handling ;  and  it  was  by 

these   covers   they   were   generally  designated   in  the  family. 

Hume's  History  of  England  was  known  as  "  the  brown  book " ; 

16*  x 


870  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Rollin's  History  was  "the  green  book";  but  there  was  one 
volume  which  she  pondered  oftener  and  with  more  intense  ear- 
nestness than  any  other,  which  received  the  designation  of  "  the 
blue  book."  This  was  a  volume  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bellamy  of 
Connecticut,  called  "  True  Religion  delineated,  and  distinguished 
from  all  Counterfeits."  It  was  originally  published  by  subscrip- 
tion, and  sent  out  into  New  England  with  a  letter  of  introduction 
and  recommendation  from  the  Rev.  Jonathan  Edwards,  who 
earnestly  set  it  forth  as  being  a  condensed  summary,  in  popular 
language,  of  what  it  is  vital  and  important  for  human  beings  to 
know  for  their  spiritual  progress.  It  was  written  in  a  strong, 
nervous,  condensed,  popular  style,  such  as  is  fallen  into  by  a 
practical  man  speaking  to  a  practical  people,  by  a  man  thor- 
oughly in  earnest  to  men  as  deeply  in  earnest,  and  lastly,  by  a 
man  who  believed  without  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  and  without 
even  the  comprehension  of  the  possibility  of  a  doubt. 

I  cannot  give  a  better  idea  of  the  unflinching  manner  in  which 
the  deepest  mysteries  of  religion  were  propounded  to  the  common 
people  than  by  giving  a  specimen  of  some  of  the  headings  of 
this  book. 

Page  288  considers,  "  Were  we  by  the  Fall  brought  into  a 
State  of  Being  worse  than  Not  to  Be  ?  " 

The  answer  to  this  comprehensive  question  is  sufficiently 
explicit. 

"Mankind  were  by  their  fall  brought  into  a  state  of  being 
worse  than  not  to  be.  The  damned  in  hell,  no  doubt,  are  in  such 
a  state,  else  their  punishment  would  not  be  infinite,  as  justice  re- 
quires it  should  be.  But  mankind,  by  the  fall,  were  brought  into 
a  state,  for  substance,  as  bad  as  that  which  the  damned  are  in." 

The  next  inquiry  to  this  is,  "  How  could  God,  consistent  with 
his  perfections,  put  us  into  a  state  of  being  worse  than  not  to 
be  ?  And  how  can  we  ever  thank  God  for  such  a  being  ?  " 

The  answer  to  this,  as  it  was  read  by  thousands  of  reflecting 
minds  like  mine,  certainly  shows  that  these  hardy  and  courageous 
investigators  often  raised  spirits  that  they  could  not  lay.  As,  for 
instance,  this  solution  of  the  question,  which  never  struck  me  as 
satisfactory. 


MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  BLUE  BOOK.          871 

"Inasmuch  as  God  did  virtually  give  being  to  all  mankind, 
when  he  blessed  our  first  parents  and  said,  '  Be  fruitful  and 
multiply ' ;  and  inasmuch  as  Being,  under  the  circumstances  that 
man  was  then  put  in  by  God,  was  very  desirable  :  we  ought,  there- 
fore, to  thank  God  for  our  being,  considered  in  this  light,  and 
justify  God  for  all  the  evil  that  has  come  upon  us  by  apos- 
tasy." 

On  this  subject  the  author  goes  on  to  moralize  thus :  — 

"  Mankind,  by  the  fall,  were  brought  into  a  state  of  being  in- 
finitely worse  than  not  to  be  ;  and  were  they  but  so  far  awake  as 
to  be  sensible  of  it,  they  would,  no  doubt,  all  over  the  earth,  mur- 
mur and  blaspheme  the  God  of  Heaven.  But  what  then  ?  there 
would  be  no  just  ground  for  such  conduct.  We  have  no  reason 
to  think  hard  of  God,  —  to  blame  him  or  esteem  him  e'er  the  less. 
What  he  has  done  was  fit  and  right.  His  conduct  was  beautiful, 
and  he  is  worthy  to  be  esteemed  for  it.  For  that  constitution 
was  holy,  just,  and  good,  as  has  been  proved.  And,  therefore,  a 
fallen  world  ought  to  ascribe  to  themselves  all  the  evil,  and  to 
justify  God  and  say :  (  God  gave  us  being  under  a  constitution 
holy,  just,  and  good,  and  it  was  a  mercy.  We  should  have 
accounted  it  a  great  mercy  in  case  Adam  had  never  fallen ;  but 
God  is  not  to  blame  for  this,  nor,  therefore,  is  he  the  less  worthy 
of  thanks.' " 

After  this  comes  another  and  quite  practical  inquiry,  which  is 
stated  as  follows :  — 

"  But  if  mankind  are  thus  by  nature  children  of  wrath,  in  a 
state  of  being  worse  than  not  to  be,  how  can  men  have  the  heart 
to  propagate  their  kind  ?  " 

The  answer  to  this  inquiry  it  is  not  necessary  to  give  at  length. 
I  merely  state  it  to  show  how  unblinking  was  the  gaze  which 
men  in  those  days  fixed  upon  the  problems  of  life. 

The  objector  is  still  further  represented  as  saying, — 

"  It  cannot  be  thought  a  blessing  to  have  children,  if  most  of 
them  are  thought  to  be  likely  to  perish." 

The  answer  to  this  is  as  follows  :  — 

"The  most  of  Abraham's  posterity  for  these  three  thousand 
years,  no  doubt,  have  been  wicked  and  perished.  And  God  knew 


372  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

beforehand  how  it  would  be,  and  yet  he  promised  such  a  numer- 
ous posterity  under  the  notion  of  a  great  blessing.  For,  con- 
sidering children  as  to  this  life,  they  may  be  a  great  blessing  and 
comfort  to  their  parents ;  and  we  are  certain  that  God  will  do 
them,  no  wrong  in  the  life  to  come.  All  men's  murmuring 
thoughts  about  this  matter  arise  from  their  not  liking  God's 
way  of  governing  the  world." 

I  will  quote  but  one  more  passage,  as  showing  the  hardy  vigor 
of  assertion  on  the  darkest  of  subjects,  —  the  origin  of  evil.  The 
author  says :  — 

"  When  God  first  designed  the  world,  and  laid  out  his  scheme 
of  government,  it  was  easy  for  him  to  have  determined  that 
neither  angels  nor  men  should  ever  sin,  and  that  misery  should 
never  be  heard  of  in  all  his  dominions ;  for  he  could  easily  have 
prevented  both  sin  and  misery.  Why  did  not  he  ?  Surely  not 
for  want  of  goodness  in  his  nature,  for  that  is  infinite  ;  not  from 
anything  like  cruelty,  for  there  is  no  such  thing  in  him ;  not  for 
want  of  a  suitable  regard  to  the  happiness  of  his  creatures,  for 
that  he  always  has :  but  because  in  his  infinite  wisdom  he  did  not 
think  it  best  on  the  whole. 

"  But  why  was  it  not  best  ?  What  could  he  have  in  view, 
preferable  to  the  happiness  of  his  creatures  ?  And,  if  their  hap- 
piness was  to  him  above  all  things  most  dear,  how  could  he  bear 
the  thoughts  of  their  ever  any  of  them  being  miserable  ? 

"  It  is  certain  that  he  had  in  view  something  else  than  merely 
the  happiness  of  his  creatures.  It  was  something  of -greater 
importance.  But  what  was  that  thing  that  was  of  greater  worth 
and  importance,  and  to  which  he  had  the  greatest  regard,  making 
all  other  things  give  way  to  this  ?  What  was  his  great  end  in 
creating  and  governing  the- world  ?  Why,  look  what  end  he  is  at 
last  likely  to  obtain,  when  the  whole  scheme  is  finished,  and  the 
Day  of  Judgment  passed,  and  heaven  and  hell  filled  with  all 
their  proper  inhabitants.  What  will  be  the  final  result  ?  What 
will  he  get  by  all  ?  Why,  this  :  that  he  will  exert  and  display 
every  one  of  his  perfections  to  the  life,  and  so  by  all  will  exhibit 
a  most  perfect  and  exact  image  of  himself. 

"  Now  it  is  evident  that  the  fall  of  angels  and  of  man,  together 


MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  BLUE  BOOK.         373 

with  all  those  things  which  have  and  will  come  to  pass  in  conse- 
quence thereof,  from  the  beginning  of  the  world  to  the  Day  of 
Judgment  and  throughout  eternity,  will  serve  to  give  a  much 
more  lively  and  perfect  representation  of  God  than  could  possibly 
have  been  given  had  there  been  no  sin  or  misery." 

This  book  also  led  the  inquirer  through  all  the  mazes  of  mental 
philosophy,  and  discussed  all  the  problems  of  mystical  religion, 
such  as,  — 

"  Can  a  man,  merely  from  self-love,  love  God  more  than  him- 
self ?  " 

"  Is  our  impotency  only  moral  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  most  fundamental  difference  between  Arminians 
and  Calvinists  ?  " 

"  How  the  love  to  our  neighbor  which  is  commanded  by  God 
is  a  thing  different  from  natural  compassion,  from  natural  affec- 
tion, from  party-spirited  love,  from  any  love  whatever  that  arises 
merely  from  self-love,  and  from  the  love  which  enthusiasts  and 
heretics  have  for  one  another." 

I  give  these  specimens,  that  the  reader  may  reflect  what  kind 
of  population  there  was  likely  to  be  where  such  were  the  daily 
studies  of  a  plain  country  farmer's  wife,  and  such  the  common 
topics  discussed  at  every  kitchen  fireside. 

My  grandmother's  blue  book  was  published  and  recommended 
to  the  attention  of  New  England,  August  4,  17oO,  just  twenty- 
six  years  before  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  How  popular 
it  was,  and  how  widely  read  in  New  England,  appears  from  the 
list  of  subscribers  which  stands  at  the  end  of  the  old  copy  which 
my  grandmother  actually  used.  Almost  every  good  old  Massa- 
chusetts or  Connecticut  family  name  is  there  represented.  We 
have  the  Emersons,  the  Adamses,  the  Brattles  of  Brattle  Street, 
the  Bromfields  of  Bromfield  Street,  the  Brinsmaids  of  Connecticut, 
the  Butlers,  the  Campbells,  the  Chapmans,  the  Cottons,  the 
Daggetts,  the  Hawleys,  the  .Hookers,  with  many  more  names 
of  families  yet  continuing  to  hold  influence  in  New  England. 
How  they  regarded  this  book  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact 
that  some  subscribed  for  six  books,  some  for  twelve,  some  for 
thirty-six,  and  some  for  fifty.  Its  dissemination  was  deemed  an 


874  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

act  of  religious  ministry,  and  there  is  not  the  slightest  doubt  that 
it  was  needfully  and  earnestly  read  in  every  good  family  of  New 
England ;  and  its  propositions  were  discussed  everywhere  and  by 
everybody.  This  is  one  undoubted  fact ;  the  other  is,  that  it 
was  this  generation  who  fought  through  the  Revolutionary  war. 
They  were  a  set  of  men  and  women  brought  up  to  think,  —  to 
think  not  merely  on  agreeable  subjects,  but  to  wrestle  and  tug 
at  the  very  severest  problems.  Utter  self-renunciation,  a  sort 
of  grand  contempt  for  personal  happiness  when  weighed  with 
things  greater  and  more  valuable,  was  the  fundamental  principle 
of  life  in  those  days.  They  who  could  calmly  look  in  the  face, 
and  settle  themselves  down  to,  the  idea  of  being  resigned  and 
thankful  for  an  existence  which  was  not  so  good  as  non-exist- 
ence, —  who  were  willing  to  be  loyal  subjects  of  a  splendid 
and  powerful  government  which  was  conducted  on  quite  other 
issues  than  a  regard  for  their  happiness,  —  were  possessed  of  a 
courage  and  a  fortitude  which  no  mere  earthly  mischance  could 
shake.  They  who  had  faced  eternal  ruin  with  an  unflinch- 
ing gaze  were  not  likely  to  shrink  before  the  comparatively 
trivial  losses  and  gains  of  any  mere  earthly  conflict.  Being 
accustomed  to  combats  with  the  Devil,  it  was  rather  a  recrea- 
tion to  fight  only  British  officers. 

If  any  should  ever  be  so  curious  as  to  read  this  old  treatise,  ns 
well  as  most  of  the  writings  of  Jonathan  Edwards,  they  will  per- 
ceive with  singular  plainness  how  inevitably  monarchical  and 
aristocratic  institutions  influence  theology. 

That  "  the  king  can  do  no  wrong,"  —  that  the  subject  owes 
everything  to  the  king,  and  the  king  nothing  to  the  subject,  — 
that  it  is  the  king's  first  duty  to  take  care  of  himself,  and  keep 
up  state,  splendor,  majesty,  and  royalty,  and  that  it  is  the  people's 
duty  to  give  themselves  up,  body  and  soul,  without  a  murmuring 
thought,  to  keep  up  this  state,  splendor,  and  royalty,  —  were  ideas 
for  ages  so  wrought  into  the  human  mind,  and  transmitted  by 
ordinary  generation,  —  they  so  reflected  themselves  in  literature 
and  poetry  and  art,  and  all  the  great  customs  of  society,  —  that  it 
was  inevitable  that  systematic  theology  should  be  permeated  by 
them. 


MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  BLUE  BOOK.          375 

The  idea  of  God  in  which  theologians  delighted,  and  which  the 
popular  mind  accepted,  was  not  that  of  the  Good  Shepherd  that 
giveth  his  life  for  the  sheep,  —  of  him  that  made  himself  of  no 
reputation,  and  took  unto  himself  the  form  of  a  servant,  —  of 
him  who  on  his  knees  washed  the  feet  of  his  disciples,  and  said 
that  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven  the  greatest  was  he  who  served 
most  humbly,  —  this  aspect  of  a  Divine  Being  had  not  yet  been 
wrought  into  their  systematic  theology ;  because,  while  the  Bible 
comes  from  God,  theology  is  the  outgrowth  of  the  human  mind, 
and  therefore  must  spring  from  the  movement  of  society. 

When  the  Puritans  arrived  at  a  perception  of  the  political 
rights  of  men  in  the  state,  and  began  to  enunciate  and  act 
upon  the  doctrine  that  a  king's  right  to  reign  was  founded  upon 
his  power  to  promote  the  greatest  happiness  of  his  subjects, 
and  when,  in  pursuance  of  this  theory,  they  tried,  condemned, 
and  executed  a  king  who  had  been  false  to  the  people,  they  took 
a  long  step  forward  in  human  progress.  Why  did  not  immediate 
anarchy  follow,  as  when  the  French  took  such  a  step  in  regard  to 
their  king  ?  It  was  because  the  Puritans  transferred  to  God  all 
those  rights  and  immunities,  all  that  unquestioning  homage  and 
worship  and  loyalty,  which  hitherto  they  had  given  to  an  earthly 
king. 

The  human  mind  cannot  bear  to  relinquish  more  than  a  cer- 
tain portion  of  its  cherished  past  ideas  in  one  century.  Society 
falls  into  anarchy  in  too  entire  a  change  of  base. 

The  Puritans  had  still  a  King.  The  French  Revolutionists 
had  nothing ;  therefore,  the  Puritan  Revolution  went  on  stronger 
and  stronger.  The  French  passed  through  anarchy  back  under 
despotism. 

The  doctrine  of  Divine  sovereignty  was  the  great  rest  to  the 
human  mind  in  those  days,  when  the  foundations  of  many  gen- 
erations were  broken  up.  It  is  always  painful  to  honest  and 
loyal  minds  to  break  away  from  that  which  they  have  rever- 
enced, —  to  put  down  that  which  they  have  respected.  And  the 
Puritans  were  by  nature  the  most  reverential  and  most  loyal 
portion  of  the  community.  Their  passionate  attachment  to  the 
doctrine  of  Divine  sovereignty,  at  this  period,  was  the  pleading 


376  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

and  yearning  within  them  of  a  faculty  robbed  of  its  appropriate 
object,  and  longing  for  support  and  expression. 

There  is  something  most  affecting  in  the  submissive  devotion 
of  these  old  Puritans  to  their  God.  Nothing  shows  more  com- 
pletely the  indestructible  nature  of  the  filial  tie  which  binds  man 
to  God,  of  the  filial  yearning  which  throbs  in  the  heart  of  a  great 
child  of  so  great  a  Father,  than  the  manner  in  which  these  men 
loved  and  worshipped  and  trusted  God  as  the  ALL  LOVELY,  even 
in  the  face  of  monstrous  assertions  of  theology  ascribing  to  him 
deeds  which  no  father  could  imitate  without  being  cast  out  of 
human  society,  and  no  governor  without  being  handed  down 
to  all  ages  as  a  monster. 

These  theologies  were  not  formed  by  the  Puritans ;  they  were 
their  legacy  from  past  monarchical  and  mediaeval  ages ;  and  the 
principles  of  true  Christian  democracy  upon  which  they  founded 
their  new  state  began,  from  the  time  of  the  American  Revolution, 
to  act  upon  them  with  a  constantly  ameliorating  power ;  -so  that 
whosoever  should  read  my  grandmother's  blue  book  now  would 
be  astonished  to  find  how  completely  New  England  theology  has 
changed  its  base. 

The  artist,  in  reproducing  pictures  of  New  England  life  dur- 
ing this  period,  is  often  obliged  to  hold  his  hand.  He  could  not 
faithfully  report  the  familiar  conversations  of  the  common  people, 
because  they  often  allude  to  and  discuss  the  most  awful  and  tre- 
mendous subjects.  This,  however,  was  the  inevitable  result  of 
the  honest,  fearless  manner  in  which  the  New  England  ministry 
of  this  second  era  discussed  the  Divine  administration.  They 
argued  for  it  with  the  common  people  in  very  much  the  tone 
and  with  much  the  language  in  which  they  defended  the  Con- 
tinental Congress  and  the  ruling  President ;  and  every  human 
being  was  addressed  as  a  competent  judge. 

The  result  of  such  a  mode  of  proceeding,  in  the  long  run, 
changed  the  theology  of  New  England,  from  what  it  was  when 
Jonathan  Edwards  recommended  my  grandmother's  blue  book, 
into  what  it  is  at  this  present  writing.  But,  during  the  process 
of  this  investigation,  every  child  born  in  New  England  found 
himself  beaten  backwards  and  forwards,  like  a  shuttlecock, 


MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  BLUE  BOOK.         377 

between  the  battledoors  of  discussion.  Our  kitchen  used  to  be 
shaken  constantly  by  what  my  grandfather  significantly  called 
"the  battle  of  the  Infinites,"  especially  when  my  Uncle  Bill 
came  home  from  Cambridge  on  his  vacations,  fully  charged  with 
syllogisms,  which  he  hurled  like  catapults  back  on  the  syllogisms 
which  my  grandmother  had  drawn  from  the  armory  of  her  blue 
book. 

My  grandmother  would  say,  for  example :  "  Whatever  sin  is 
committed  against  an  infinite  being  is  an  infinite  evil.  Every  in- 
finite evil  deserves  infinite  punishment ;  therefore  every  sin  of 
man  deserves  an  infinite  punishment." 

Then  Uncle  Bill,  on  the  other  side,  would  say :  "  No  act  of 
a  finite  being  can  be  infinite.  Man  is  a  finite  being ;  therefore 
no  sin  of  man  can  be  infinite.  No  finite  evil  deserves  infinite 
punishment.  Man's  sins  are  finite  evils ;  therefore  man's  sins 
do  not  deserve  infinite  punishment."  When  the  combatants  had 
got  thus  far,  they  generally  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 

As  a  result,  my  grandmother  being  earnest  and  prayerful, 
and  my  uncle  careless  and  worldly,  the  thing  generally  ended  in 
her  believing  that  he  was  wrong,  though  she  could  not  answer 
him ;  and  in  his  believing  that  she,  after  all,  might  be  right, 
though  he  could  answer  her  ;  for  it  is  noticeable,  in  every  battle 
of  opinion,  that  honest,  sincere,  moral  earnestness  has  a  certain 
advantage  over  mere  intellectual  cleverness. 

It  was  inevitable  that  a  people  who  had  just  carried  through 
a  national  revolution  and  declared  national  independence  on  the 
principle  that  "  governments  owe  their  just  power  to  the  consent 
of  the  governed,"  and  who  recognized  it  as  an  axiom  that  the 
greatest  good  to  the  greatest  number  was  the  object  to  be  held  in 
view  in  all  just  governments,  should  very  soon  come  into  painful 
collision  with  forms  of  theological  statement,  in  regard  to  God's 
government,  which  appeared  to  contravene  all  these  principles, 
and  which  could  be  supported  only  by  referring  to  the  old  notion 
of  the  divine  right  and  prerogative  of  the  King  Eternal. 

President  Edwards  had  constructed  a  marvellous  piece  of 
logic  to  show  that,  while  true  virtue  in  man  consisted  in  su- 
preme devotion  to  the  general  good  of  all,  true  virtue  in  God 


378  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

consisted  in  supreme  regard  for  himself.  This  "  Treatise  on 
True  Virtue  "  was  one  of  the  strongest  attempts  to  back  up 
by  reasoning  the  old  monarchical  and  aristocratic  ideas  of  the 
supreme  right  of  the  king  and  upper  classes.  The  whole  of 
it  falls  to  dust  before  the  one  simple  declaration  of  Jesus  Christ, 
that,  in  the  eyes  of  Heaven,  one  lost  sheep  is  more  prized  than 
all  the  ninety  and  nine  that  went  not  astray,  and  before  the 
parable  in  which  the  father  runs,  forgetful  of  parental  pre- 
rogative and  dignity,  to  cast  himself  on  the  neck  of  the  far-off 
prodigal. 

Theology  being  human  and  a  reflection  of  human  infirmities, 
nothing  is  more  common  than  for  it  to  come  up  point-blank  in 
opposition  to  the  simplest  declarations  of  Christ. 

I  must  beg  my  readers'  pardon  for  all  this,  but  it  is  a  fact  that 
the  true  tragedy  of  New  England  life,  its  deep,  unutterable 
pathos,  its  endurances  and  its  sufferings,  all  depended  upon, 
and  were  woven  into,  this  constant  wrestling  of  thought  with  in- 
finite problems  which  could  not  be  avoided,  and  which  saddened 
the  days  of  almost  every  one  who  grew  up  under  it. 

Was  this  entire  freedom  of  thought  and  discussion  a  bad  thing, 
then  ?.  Do  we  not  see  that  strength  of  mind  and  strength  of  will, 
and  the  courage  and  fortitude  and  endurance  which  founded  this 
great  American  government,  grew  up  out  of  characters  formed 
thus  to  think  and  struggle  and  suffer  ?  It  seems  to  be  the  law  of 
this  present  existence,  that  all  the  changes  by  which  the  world  is 
made  better  are  brought  about  by  the  struggle  and  suffering,  and 
sometimes  the  utter  shipwreck,  of  individual  human  beings. 

In  regard  to  our  own  family,  the  deepest  tragedy  in  it,  and  the 
one  which  for  a  time  brought  the  most  suffering  and  sorrow  on 
us  all,  cannot  be  explained  unless  we  take  into  consideration 
this  peculiar  state  of  society. 

In  the  neighboring  town  of  Adams  there  lived  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  clergymen  that  New  England  has  ever  pro- 
duced. His  career  influenced  the  thinking  of  Massachusetts, 
both  in  regard  to  those  who  adopted  his  opinions,  and  in  the 
violent  reaction  from  those  opinions  which  was  the  result  of 
his  extreme  manner  of  pushing  them. 


MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  BLUE  BOOK.         379 

Dr.  Moses  Stern's  figure  is  well  remembered  by  me  as  I  saw  it 
in  my  boyhood.  Everybody  knew  him,  and  when  he  appeared 
in  the  pulpit  everybody  trembled  before  him.  He  moved  among 
men,  but  seemed  not  of  men.  An  austere,  inflexible,  grand  indif- 
ference to  all  things  earthly  seemed  to  give  him  the  prestige  and 
dignity  of  a  supernatural  being.  His  Calvinism  was  of  so  severe 
and  ultra  a  type,  and  his  statements  were  so  little  qualified  either 
by  pity  of  human  infirmity,  or  fear  of  human  censure,  or  desire 
of  human  approbation,  that  he  reminded  one  of  some  ancient 
prophet,  freighted  with  a  mission  of  woe  and  wrath,  which  he 
must  always  speak,  whether  people  would  hear  or  whether  they 
would  forbear. 

The  Revolutionary  war  had  introduced  into  the  country  a 
great  deal  of  scepticism,  of  a  type  of  which  Paine's  "  Age  of 
Reason  "  was  an  exponent ;  and,  to  meet  this,  the  ministry  of 
New  England  was  not  slow  or  unskilful. 

Dr.  Stern's  mode  of  meeting  this  attitude  of  the  popular 
mind  was  by  an  unflinching,  authoritative,  vehement  reiteration 
of  all  the  most  unpopular  and  unpleasant  points  of  Calvinism. 
Now  as  Nature  is,  in  many  of  her  obvious  aspects,  notoriously 
uncompromising,  harsh,  and  severe,  the  Calvinist  who  begins  to 
talk  to  common-sense  people  has  this  advantage  on  his  side,  — 
that  the  things  which  he  represents  the  Author  of  Nature  as  doing 
and  being  ready  to  do,  are  not  very  different  from  what  the  com- 
mon-sense man  sees  that  the  Author  of  Nature  is  already  in  the 
habit  of  doing. 

The  farmer  who  struggles  with  the  hard  soil,  and  with  drouth 
and  frost  and  caterpillars  and  fifty  other  insect  plagues,  —  who 
finds  his  most  persistent  and  well-calculated  efforts  constantly 
thwarted  by  laws  whose  workings  he  never  can  fully  anticipate, 
and  which  never  manifest  either  care  for  his  good  intentions  or 
sympathy  for  his  losses,  is  very  apt  to  believe  that  the  God  who 
created  nature  may  be  a  generally  benevolent,  but  a  severe  and 
unsympathetic  being,  governing  the  world  for  some  great,  un- 
known purpose  of  his  own,  of  which  man's  private  improvement 
and  happiness  may  or  may  not  form  a  part. 

Dr.  Stern,  with  characteristic  independence  and  fearlessness, 


380  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

on  his  own  simple  authority  cut  loose  from  and  repudiated  the 
whole  traditional  idea  of  the  fall  in  Adam  as  having  anything  to 
do  with  the  existence  of  human  depravity ;  and  made  up  his  own 
theory  of  the  universe,  and  began  preaching  it  to  the  farmers  of 
Adams.  It  was  simply  this :  that  the  Divine  Being  is  the  effi- 
cient cause  of  all  things,  not  only  in  matter  but  in  mind,  —  that 
every  good  and  every  evil  volition  of  any  being  in  the  universe  is 
immediately  caused  by  Him  and  tends  equally  well  in  its  way 
to  carry  on  his  great  designs.  But,  in  order  that  this  might  not 
interfere  with  the  doctrines  of  human  responsibility,  he  taught 
that  all  was  accomplished  by  Omniscient  skill  and  knowledge  in 
such  a  way  as  not  in  the  slightest  degree  to  interfere  with  hu- 
man free  agency ;  so  that  the  whole  responsibility  of  every 
human  being's  actions  must  rest  upon  himself. 

Thus  was  this  system  calculated,  like  a  skilful  engine  of  tor- 
ture, to  produce  all  the  mental  anguish  of  the  most  perfect  sense 
of  helplessness  with  the  most  torturing  sense  of  responsibility. 
Alternately  he  worked  these  two  great  levers  with  an  almost 
supernatural  power,  —  on  one  Sunday  demonstrating  with  the 
most  logical  clearness,  and  by  appeals  to  human  consciousness, 
the  perfect  freedom  of  man,  and,  on  the  next,  demonstrating 
with  no  less  precision  and  logic  the  perfect  power  which  an 
Omniscient  Being  possessed  and  exercised  of  controlling  all  his 
thoughts  and  volitions  and  actions. 

Individually,  Dr.  Stern,  like  many  other  teachers  of  severe, 
uncompromising  theories,  was  an  artless,  simple-hearted,  gentle- 
mannered  man.  He  was  a  close  student,  and  wore  two  holes  in 
the  floor  opposite  his  table  in  the  spot  where  year  after  year 
his  feet  were  placed  in  study.  He  refused  to  have  the  smallest 
thing  to  do  with  any  temporal  affair  of  this  life.  Like  the  other 
clergymen,  he  lived  on  a  small  salary,  and  the  support  of  his 
family  depended  largely  on  the  proceeds  of  a  farm.  But  it  is 
recorded  of  him,  that  once,  when  his  whole  summer's  crop  of  hay 
was  threatened  with  the  bursting  of  a  thunder-shower,  and,  farm- 
hands being  short,  he  was  importuned  to  lend  a  hand  to  save 
it,  he  resolutely  declined,  saying,  that,  if  he  once  began  to  allow 
himself  to  be  called  on  in  any  emergency  for  temporal  affairs,  he 
should  become  forgetful  of  his  great  mission. 


MY  GKANDMOTHER'S  BLUE  BOOK.         381 

The  same  inflexible,  unbending  perseverance  he  showed  in 
preaching,  on  the  basis  of  his  own  terrible  theory,  the  most  fear- 
ful doctrines  of  Calvinism.  His  sermons  on  Judas,  on  Jeroboam, 
and  on  Pharaoh,  as  practical  examples  of  the  doctrine  of 
reprobation,  were  pieces  of  literature  so  startling  and  astound- 
ing, that,  even  in  those  days  of  interrupted  travel,  when  there 
were  neither  railroads  nor  good  roads  of  any  kind,  and  al- 
most none  of  our  modern  communicative  system  of  magazines 
and  newspapers,  they  were  heard  of  all  over  New  England. 
So  great  was  the  revulsion  which  his  doctrines  excited,  that, 
when  he  exchanged  with  his  brother  ministers,  his  appearance  in 
the  pulpit  was  the  signal  for  some  of  the  most  independent  of 
the  congregation  to  get  up  and  leave  the  meeting-house.  But,  as 
it  was  one  of  his  maxims  that  the  minister  who  does  not  excite 
the  opposition  of  the  natural  heart  fails  to  do  his  work,  he  re- 
garded such  demonstrations  as  evident  signs  of  a  faithful  min- 
istry. 

The  science  of  Biblical  criticism  in  his  day  was  in  its  infancy ; 
the  Bible  was  mostly  read  by  ministers,  and  proof-texts  quoted 
from  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  treatise  written  in  the  English  lan- 
guage by  New-Englanders,  and  in  which  every  word  must  bear 
the  exact  sense  of  a  New  England  metaphysical  treatise.  And 
thus  interpreting  the  whole  wide  labyrinth  of  poetry  and  history, 
and  Oriental  allegory  and  hyperbole,  by  literal  rules,  Dr.  Stern 
found  no  difficulty  in  making  it  clear  to  those  who  heard  him  that 
there  was  no  choice  between  believing  his  hard  doctrines  and 
giving  up  the  Bible  altogether.  And  it  shows  the  deep  and  rooted 
attachment  which  the  human  heart  has  for  that  motherly  book, 
that  even  in  this  dreadful  dilemma  the  majority  of  his  hearers 
did  not  revolt  from  the  Bible. 

As  it  was,  in  the  town  where  he  lived  his  preaching  formed 
the  strongest,  most  controlling  of  all  forces.  No  human  being 
could  hear  his  sermons  unmoved.  He  would  not  preach  to  an 
inattentive  audience,  and  on  one  occasion,  observing  a  large  num- 
ber of  his  congregation  asleep,  he  abruptly  descended  from  the 
pulpit  and  calmly  walked  off  home,  leaving  the  astonished 
congregation  to  their  own .  reflections  j  nor  would  he  resume 


382  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

public  services  until  messages  of  contrition  and  assurances  of 
better  conduct  had  been  sent  him. 

Dr.  Stern  was  in  his  position  irresistible,  simply  because  he 
cared  nothing  at  all  for  the  things  which  men  ordinarily  care  for, 
and  which  therefore  could  be  used  as  motives  to  restrain  the 
declarations  and  actions  of  a  clergyman.  He  cared  nothing 
about  worldly  prosperity;  he  was  totally  indifferent  to  money; 
he  utterly  despised  fame  and  reputation ;  and  therefore  from 
none  of  these  sources  could  he  be  in  the  slightest  degree  in- 
fluenced. Such  a  man  is  generally  the  king  of  his  neighbor- 
hood, —  the  one  whom  all  look  up  to,  and  all  fear,  and  whose 
word  in  time  becomes  law. 

Dr.  Stern  never  sought  to  put  himself  forward  otherwise 
than  by  the  steady  preaching  of  his  system  to  the  farming 
population  of  Adams.  And  yet,  so  great  were  his  influence  and 
his  fame,  that  in  time  it  became  customary  for  young  theological 
students  to  come  and  settle  themselves  down  there  as  his  stu- 
dents. This  was  done  at  first  without  his  desire,  and  contrary  to 
his  remonstrance. 

"  I  can't  engage  to  teach  you,"  he  said  ;  but  still,  when  scholars 
came  and  continued  to  come,  he  found  himself,  without  seeking 
it,  actually  at  the  head  of  a  school  of  theology. 

Let  justice  be  done  to  all;  it  is  due  to  truth  to  state  that 
the  theological  scholars  of  Dr.  Stern,  wherever  they  Avent  in 
the  United  States,  were  always  marked  men,  —  marked  for  an 
unflinching  adherence  to  principle,  and  especially  for  a  great 
power  in  supporting  unpopular  truths. 

The  Doctor  himself  lived  to  an  extreme  old  age,  always  re- 
taining and  reiterating  with  unflinching  constancy  his  opinions. 
He  was  the  last  of  the  New  England  ministers  who  preserved  the 
old  clerical  dress  of  the  theocracy.  Long  after  the  cocked  hat  and 
small-clothes,  silk  stockings  and  shoe-buckles,  had  ceased  to  ap- 
pear in  modern  life,  his  venerable  figure,  thus  apparelled,  walked 
the  ways  of  modern  men,  seeming  like  one  of  the  primitive 
Puritans  risen  from  the  dead. 

He  was  the  last,  also,  of  the  New  England  ministers  to 
claim  for  himself  that  peculiar  position,  as  God's  ambassa- 


MY   GRANDMOTHER'S   BLUE   BOOK.  383 

dor,  which  was  such  a  reality  in  the  minds  of  the  whole  early- 
Puritan  community.  To  extreme  old  age,  his  word  was  law  in 
his  parish,  and  he  calmly  and  positively  felt  that  it  should  be 
so.  In  time,  his  gray  hairs,  his  fine,  antique  figure  and  quaint 
costume  came  to  be  regarded  with  the  sort  of  appreciative 
veneration  that  every  one  gives  to  the  monuments  of  the  past. 
When  he  was  near  his  ninetieth  year,  he  was  invited  to  New 
York  to  give  the  prestige  of  his  venerable  presence  to  the  re- 
ligious anniversaries  which  then  were  in  the  flush  of  newly 
organized  enthusiasm,  and  which  gladly  laid  hold  of  this  striking 
accessory  to  the  religious  picturesque. 

Dr.  Stern  was  invited  and  feted  in  the  most  select  upper 
circles  of  New  York,  and  treated  with  attentions  which  would 
have  been  nattering  had  he  not  been  too  entirely  simple-minded 
and  careless  of  such  matters  even  to  perceive  what  they  meant. 

But  at  this  same  time  the  Abolitionists,  who  were  regarded  as 
most  improper  people  to  be  recognized  in  the  religious  circles 
of  good  society,  came  to  New  York,  resolving  to  have  their 
anniversary  also ;  and,  knowing  that  Dr.  Stern  had  always  pro- 
fessed to  be  an  antislavery  man,  they  invited  him  to  sit  on  the 
stage  with  them ;  and  Dr.  Stern  went.  Shocking  to  relate,  and 
dreadful  to  behold,  this  very  cocked  hat  and  these  picturesque 
gray  hairs,  that  had  been  brought  to  New  York  on  purpose  to 
ornament  religious  anniversaries  which  were  all  agreed  in  ex- 
cluding and  ignoring  the  Abolitionists,  had  gone  right  over  into 
the  camp  of  the  enemy  !  and  he  was  so  entirely  ignorant  and 
uninstructible  on  the  subject,  and  came  back,  after  having  com- 
mitted this  abomination,  with  a  face  of  such  innocent  and  serene 
gravity,  that  nobody  dared  to  say  a  word  to  him  on  the  subject. 

He  was  at  this  time  the  accepted  guest  in  a  family  whose  very 
religion  consisted  in  a  gracious  carefulness  and  tenderness  lest 
they  should  wake  up  the  feelings  of  their  Southern  brethren  on 
the  delicate  subject  of  slavery.  But  then  Dr.  Stern  was  a 
man  that  it  did  no  good  to  talk  to,  since  it  was  well  kno^wn  that, 
wherever  there  was  an  unpopular  truth  to  be  defended,  his  cocked 
hat  was  sure  to  be  in  the  front  ranks. 

Let  us  do  one  more  justice  to  Dr.  Stern,  and  say  that  his 


384  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

utter  inflexibility  toward  human  infirmity  and  human  feeling 
spared  himself  as  little  as  it  spared  any  other.  In  his  early 
life  he  records,  in  a  most  affecting  autobiography,  the  stroke 
which  deprived  him,  within  a  very  short  space,  of  a  beloved 
wife  and  two  charming  children.  In  the  struggle  of  that  hour 
he  says,  with  affecting*  simplicity,  "  I  felt  that  I  should  die  if  I 
did  not  submit ;  and  I  did  submit  then,  once  for  all."  Thence- 
forward the  beginning  and  middle  and  end  of  his  whole  preach- 
ing was  submission,  —  utter,  absolute,  and  unconditional. 

In  extreme  old  age,  trembling  on  the  verge  of  the  grave,  and 
looking  back  over  sixty  years  of  intense  labor,  he  said,  "  After 
all,  it  is  quite  possible  that  /  may  not  be  saved";  but  he  con- 
sidered himself  as  but  one  drop  in  the  ocean,  and  his  personal 
salvation  as  of  but  secondary  account.  His  devotion  to  the  King 
Eternal  had  no  reference  to  a  matter  so  slight.  In  all  this,  if 
there  is  something  terrible  and  painful,  there  is  something  also 
which  is  grand,  and  in  which  we  can  take  pride,  as  the  fruit  of 
our  human  nature.  Peace  to  his  ashes !  he  has  learned  better 

things  ere  now. 

' 

If  my  readers  would  properly  understand  the  real  depth  of 
sorrowful  perplexity  in  which  our  friend  Miss  Mehitable  Ros- 
siter  was  struggling,  they  must  go  back  with  us  some  years 
before,  to  the  time  when  little  Emily  Rossiter  was  given  up  to 
the  guardianship  and  entire  control  of  her  Aunt  Farnsworth. 

Zedekiah  Farnsworth  was  one  of  those  men  who  embody 
qualities  which  the  world  could  not  afford  to  be  without,  and 
which  yet  are  far  from  being  the  most  agreeable.  Uncompro- 
mising firmness,  intense  self-reliance,  with  great  vigor  in  that  part 
of  the  animal  nature  which  fits  man  to  resist  and  to  subdue  and 
to  hold  in  subjection  the  forces  of  nature,  were  his  prominent  - 
characteristics.  His  was  a  bold  and  granite  formation,  —  most 
necessary  for  the  stability  of  the  earth,  but  without  a  flower. 

His  wife  was  a  woman  who  had  once  been  gay  and  beautiful, 
but  who,  coming  under  the  dominion  of  a  stronger  nature,  was 
perfectly  magnetized  by  it,  so  as  to  assimilate  and  become  a  mod- 
ified reproduction  of  the  same  traits.  A  calm,  intense,  severe 


MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  BLUE  BOOK.         385 

conscientiousness,  which  judged  alike  herself  and  others  with  un- 
flinching severity,  was  her  leading  characteristic. 

Let  us  now  imagine  a  child  inheriting  from  the  mother  a 
sensitive,  nervous  organization,  and  from  the  father  a  predis- 
position to  morbid  action,  with  a  mind  as  sensitive  to  external 
influence  as  a  daguerreotype-plate,  brought  suddenly  from  the 
warmth  of  a  too-indulgent  household  to  the  arctic  regularity  and 
frozen  stillness  of  the  Farnsworth  mansion.  It  will  be  seen  that 
the  consequences  must  have  been  many  conflicts,  and  many  strug- 
gles of  nature  with  nature,  and  that  a  character  growing  up  thus 
must  of  course  grow  up  into  unnatural  and  unhealthy  develop- 
ment. 

The  problem  of  education  is  seriously  complicated  by  the 
peculiarities  of  womanhood.  If  we  suppose  two  souls,  exactly 
alike,  sent  into  bodies,  the  one  of  man,  the  other  of  woman,  that 
mere  fact  alone  alters  the  whole  mental  and  moral  history  of  the 
two. 

In  addition  to  all  the  other  sources  of  peril  which  beset  the 
little  Emily,  she  early  developed  a  beauty  so  remarkable  as  to 
draw  upon  her  constant  attention,  and,  as  she  grew  older,  brought 
to  her  all  the  trials  and  the  dangers  which  extraordinary  beauty 
brings  to  woman.  It  was  a  part  of  her  Aunt  Farnsworth's  sys- 
tem to  pretend  to  be  ignorant  of  this  great  fact,  with  a  view,  as 
she  supposed,  of  checking  any  disposition  to  pride  or  vanity 
which  might  naturally  arise  therefrom.  The  consequence  was 
that  the  child,  hearing  this  agreeable  news  from  every  one  else 
who  surrounded  her,  soon  learned  the  transparent  nature  of  the 
hoax,  and  with  it  acquired  a  certain  doubt  of  her  aunt's  sincerity. 

Emily  had  a  warm,  social  nature,  and  had  always  on  hand 
during  her  school  days  a  list  of  enthusiastic  friends  whose  admi- 
ration of  her  supplied  the  light  and  warmth  which  were  entirely 
wanting  from  every  other  source. 

Mrs.  Farnsworth  was  not  insensible  to  the  charms  of  her  niece. 
She  was,  in  fact,  quite  proud  of  them,  but  was  pursuing  conscien- 
tiously the  course  in  regard  to  them  which  she  felt  that  duty  re- 
quired of  her.  She  loved  the  child,  too,  devotedly,  but  her  own 
nature  had  been  so  thoroughly  frozen  by  maxims  of  self-restraint, 
17  Y 


886  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

that  this  love  seldom  or  never  came  into  outward  forms  of  ex- 
pression. 

It  is  sad  to  be  compelled  to  trace  the  ill  effects  produced  by  the 
overaction  and  misapplication  of  the  very  noblest  faculties  of  the 
human  mind. 

The  Farnsworth  family  was  one  in  which  there  was  the  fullest 
sympathy  with  the  severest  preaching  of  Dr.  Stern.  As  Emily 
grew  older,  it  was  exacted  of  her,  as  one  of  her  Sabbath  duties, 
to  take  notes  of  his  discourses  at  church,  which  were  afterwards 
to  be  read  over  on  Sunday  evening  by  her  aunt  and  uncle,  and 
preserved  in  an  extract-book. 

The  effect  of  such  kinds  of  religious  teaching  on  most  of  the 
children  and  young  people  in  the  town  of  Adams  was  to  make 
them  consider  religion,  and  everything  connected  with  it,  as  the 
most  disagreeable  of  all  subjects,  and  to  seek  practically  to  have 
as  little  to  do  with  it  as  possible ;  so  that  there  was  among  the 
young  people  a  great  deal  of  youthful  gayety  and  of  young 
enjoyment  in  life,  notwithstanding  the  preaching  from  Sunday 
to  Sunday  of  assertions  enough  to  freeze  every  heart  with  fear. 
Many  formed  the  habit  of  thinking  of  something  else  during 
the  sermon-time,  and  many  heard  without  really  attaching  any 
very  definite  meaning  to  what  they  heard. 

The  severest  utterances,  if  constantly  reiterated,  lose  their 
power  and  come  to  be  considered  as  nothing.  But  Emily  Rossi- 
ter  had  been  gifted  with  a  mind  of  far  more  than  ordinary  vigor, 
and  with  even  a  Greek  passion  for  ideas,  and  with  capabili- 
ties for  logical  thought  which  rendered  it  impossible  for  her  to 
listen  to  discourses  so  intellectual  without  taking  in  their  drift 
and  responding  to  their  stimulus  by  a  corresponding  intellectual 
activity. 

Dr.  Stern  set  the  example  of  a  perfectly  bold  and  indepen- 
dent manner  of  differing  from  the  popular  theology  of  his  day 
in  certain  important  respects ;  and,  where  he  did  differ,  it  was  with 
a  hardihood  of  self-assertion,  and  an  utter  disregard  of  popular 
opinion,  and  a  perfect  reliance  on  his  own  powers  of  discovering 
truth,  which  were  very  apt  to  magnetize  these  same  qualities  in 
other  minds.  People  who  thus  set  the  example  of  free  and 


MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  BLUE  BOOK.         387 

independent  thinking  in  one  or  two  respects,  and  yet  hope  to 
constrain  their  disciples  to  think  exactly  as  they  do  on  all  other 
subjects,  generally  reckon  without  their  host;  and  there  is  no 
other  region  in  Massachusetts  where  all  sorts  of  hardy  free-think- 
ing are  so  rife  at  the  present  day  as  in  the  region  formerly  con- 
trolled by  Dr.  Stern. 

Before  Emily  was  fourteen  years  old  she  had  passed  through 
two  or  three  of  those  seasons  of  convulsed  and  agonized  feeling 
which  are  caused  by  the  revolt  of  a  strong  sense  of  justice  and 
humanity  against  teachings  which  seem  to  accuse  the  great 
Father  of  all  of  the  most  frightful  cruelty  and  injustice.  The 
teachings  were  backed  up  by  literal  quotations  from  the  Bible, 
which  in  those  days  no  common  person  possessed  the  means, 
or  the  habits  of  thought,  for  understanding,  and  thus  were 
accepted  by  her  at  first  as  Divine  declarations. 

When  these  agonized  conflicts  occurred,  they  were  treated  by 
her  aunt  and  uncle  only  as  active  developments  of  the  natural 
opposition  of  the  human  heart  to  God.  Some  such  period  of 
active  contest  with  the  Divine  nature  was  on  record  in  the  lives  of 
some  of  the  most  eminent  New  England  saints.  President  Ed- 
wards recorded  the  same  ;  and  therefore  they  looked  upon  them 
hopefully,  just  as  the  medical  faculty  of  those  same  uninstructed 
times  looked  upon  the  writhings  and  agonies  which  their  ad- 
ministration of  poison  produced  in  the  human  body. 

The  last  and  most  fearful  of  these  mental  struggles  came  after 
the  death  of  her  favorite  brother  Theodore  ;  who,  being  supposed 
to  die  in  an  unregenerate  state,  was  forthwith  judged  and  sen- 
tenced, and  his  final  condition  spoken  of  with  a  grim  and  solemn 
certainty,  by  her  aunt  and  uncle. 

How  far  the  preaching  of  Dr.  Stern  did  violence  to  the  most 
cherished  feelings  of  human  nature  on  this  subject  will  appear 
by  an  extract  from  a  sermon  preached  about  this  time. 

The  text  was  from  Rev.  xix,  3.  "  And  again  they  said  Alle- 
luia. And  her  smoke  rose  up  for  ever  and  ever." 

The  subject  is  thus  announced  :  — 

"  The  heavenly  hosts  will  praise  God  for  punishing  the  finally 
impenitent  forever." 


388  OLDTOWN  FOLKS, 

In  the  improvement  or  practical  application  of  this  text,  is  the 
following  passage :  — 

"  Will  the  heavenly  hosts  praise  God  for  all  the  displays  of 
his  vindictive  justice  in  the  punishment  of  the  damned  ?  then  we 
may  learn  that  there  is  an  essential  difference  between  saints  and 
sinners.  Sinners  often  disbelieve  and  deny  this  distinction  ;  and 

it  is  very  difficult  to  make  them  see  and  believe  it 

They  sometimes  freely  say  that  they  do  not  think  that  heaven  is 
such  a  place  as  has  been  described ;  or  that  the  inhabitants  of  it 
say  'Amen,  Alleluia,'  while  they  see  the  smoke  of  the  torments 
of  the  damned  ascend  up  for  ever  and  ever.  They  desire  and 
hope  to  go  to  heaven,  without  ever  being  willing  to  speak  such  a 
language,  or  to  express  such  feelings  in  the  view  of  the  damned. 
And  is  not  this  saying  that  their  hearts  are  essentially  different 
from  those  who  feel  such  a  spirit,  and  are  willing  to  adopt  the 
language  of  heaven  ?  Good  men  do  adopt  the  language  of  heaven 
before  they  arrive  there.  And  all  who  are  conscious  that  they 
cannot  say  '  Amen,  Alleluia/  may  know  that  they  are  yet  sinners, 
and  essentially  different  from  saints,  and  altogether  unprepared  to 
go  with  them  to  heaven  and  join  with  them  in  praising  God  for 
the  vindictive  justice  he  displays  in  dooming  all  unholy  creatures 
to  a  never-ending  torment." 

It  was  this  sermon  that  finally  broke  those  cords  which  years 
of  pious  descent  had  made  so  near  and  tender  between  the  heart 
of  Emily  and  her  father's  Bible. 

No  young  person  ever  takes  a  deliberate  and  final  leave  of  the 
faith  of  the  fathers  without  a  pang ;  and  Emily  suffered  so 
much  in  the  struggle,  that  her  aunt  became  alarmed  for  her 
health.  She  was  sent  to  Boston  to  spend  a  winter  under  the 
care  of  another  sister  of  her  mother's,  who  was  simply  a  good- 
natured  woman  of  the  world,  who  was  proud  of  her  niece's 
beauty  and  talents,  and  resolved  to  make  the  most  of  them  in  a 
purely  worldly  way. 

At  this  time  she  formed  the  acquaintance  of  a  very  interesting 
French  family  of  high  rank,  who  for  certain  family  reasons  were 
just  then  exiled  to  America.  She  became  fascinated  with  their 
society,  and  plunged  into  the  study  of  the  French  language  and 


MY  GRANDMOTHER'S  BLUE  BOOK.         389 

literature  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  voyager  who  finds  him- 
self among  enchanted  islands.  And  French  literature  at  this 
time  was  full  of  the  life  of  a  new  era,  —  the  era  which  produced 
both  the  American  and  the  French  Revolution. 

The  writings  of  Voltaire  were  too  cold  and  cynical  for  her 
enthusiastic  nature ;  but  Rousseau  was  to  her  like  a  sudden  trans- 
lation from  the  ice  and  snow  of  Massachusetts  to  the  tropical 
flowers  of  a  February  in  Florida.  In  "  La  Nouvelle  Heloise," 
she  found,  not  merely  a  passionate  love  story,  but  the  considera- 
tion, on  the  author's  side,  of  just  such  problems  as  had  been 
raised  by  her  theological  education. 

When  she  returned  from  this  visit  she  was  apparently  quiet 
and  at  peace.  Her  peace  was  the  peace  of  a  river  which  has 
found  an  underground  passage,  and  therefore  chafes  and  frets  no 
more.  Her  philosophy  was  the  philosophy  of  Emile,  her  faith 
the  faith  of  the  Savoyard  vicar,  and  she  imitated  Dr.  Stern 
only  in  utter  self-reliance  and  fearlessness  of  consequences  in 
pursuit  of  what  she  believed  true. 

Had  her  aunt  and  uncle  been  able  to  read  the  French 
language,  they  would  have  found  her  note-book  of  sermons 
sometimes  interspersed  by  quotations  from  her  favorite  author, 
which  certainly  were  quite  in  point ;  as,  for  instance,  at  the 
foot  of  a  severe  sermon  on  the  doctrine  of  reprobation  was 
written :  — 

"Quand  cette  dure  et  decourageante  doctrine  se  de'duit  de 
1'Ecriture  elle-meme,  mon  premier  devoir  n'est-il  pas  d'honorer 
Dieu  ?  Quelque  respect  que  je  doive  au  texte  sacre,  j'en  dois 
plus  encore  a  son  Auteur;  etfaimerais  mieux  croire  la  Bible 
fahifee  ou  inintelligiUe,  que  Dieu  injuste  ou  malfaisant.  St. 
Paul  ne  veut  pas  que  le  vase  dise  au  potier,  Pourquoi  m'as-tu 
fait  ainsi  ?  Cela  est  fort  bien  si  le  potier  n'exige  du  vase  que 
des  services  qu'il  Fa  mis  en  etat  de  lui  rendre;  mais  s'il  s'en 
prenait  au  vase  de  n'  etre  pas  propre  a  un  usage  pour  lequel  il 
ne  1'aurait  pas  fait,  le  vase  aurait-il  tort  de  lui  dire,  Pourquoi 
m'as-tu  fait  ainsi  ?  "  * 

*  "  When  this  harsh,  discouraging  doctrine  is  deduced  from  the  Scriptures 
themselves,  is  not  my  first  duty  to  honor  God  ?  Whatever  respect  I  owe  to 


390  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

After  a  period  of  deceitful  quiet  and  calm,  in  which  Emily 
read  and  wrote  and  studied  alone  in  her  room,  and  moved  about 
in  her  daily  circle  like  one  whose  heart  is  afar  off,  she  suddenly 
disappeared  from  them  all.  She  left  ostensibly  to  go  on  a  visit 
to  Boston  to  her  aunt,  and  all  that  was  ever  heard  from  her 
after  that  was  a  letter  of  final  farewell  to  Miss  Mehitable,  in 
which  she  told  her  briefly,  that,  unable  any  longer  to  endure  the 
life  she  had  been  leading,  and  to  seem  to  believe  what  she  could 
not  believe,  and  being  importuned  to  practise  what  she  never 
intended  to  do,  she  had  chosen  her  lot  for  herself,  and  requested 
her  neither  to  seek  her  out  nor  to  inquire  after  her,  as  all  such 
inquiries  would  be  absolutely  vain. 

All  that  could  be  ascertained  on  the  subject  was,  that  about 
this  time  the  Marquis  de  Conte  and  his  lady  were  found  to  have 
sailed  for  France. 

This  was  the  sad  story  which  Miss  Mehitable  poured  into  the 
sympathetic  ear  of  Ellery  Davenport. 

the  sacred  text,  I  owe  still  more  to  its  Author,  and  I  should  prefer  to  believe 
the*Bible  falsified  or  unintelligible  to  believing  God  unjust  or  cruel.  St.  Paul 
would  not  that  the  vase  should  say  to  the  potter,  Why  hast  thou  made  me 
thus  ?  That  is  all  very  well  if  the  potter  exacts  of  the  vase  only  such 
services  as  he  has  fitted  it  to  render ;  but  if  he  should  require  of  it  a  usage 
for  which  he  has  not  fitted  it,  would  the  vase  be  in  the  wrong  for  saying, 
Why  hast  thou  made  me  thus  ?  " 


WE  BEGIN   TO  BE   GROWN-UP   PEOPLE.  391 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

WE   BEGIN   TO    BE    GROWN-UP   PEOPLE. 

WE  begin  to  be  grown-up  people.  We  cannot  always  re- 
main in  the  pleasant  valley  of  childhood.  I  myself,  good 
reader,  have  dwelt  on  its  scenes  longer,  because,  looking  back  on 
it  from  the  extreme  end  of  life,  it  seems  to  my  weary  eyes  so 
fresh  and  beautiful ;  the  dew  of  the  morning-land  lies  on  it,  —  that 
dew  wfiich  no  coming  day  will  restore. 

Our  childhood,  as  the  reader  has  seen,  must  be  confessed  to 
have  been  reasonably  enjoyable.  Its  influences  were  all  homely, 
innocent,  and  pure.  There  was  no  seductive  vice,  no  open  or 
covert  immorality.  Our  worst  form  of  roaring  dissipation  con- 
sisted in  being  too  fond  of  huckleberry  parties,  or  in  the  immod- 
erate pursuit  of  chestnuts  and  walnuts.  Even  the  vagrant  asso- 
ciates of  uncertain  social  standing  who  abounded  in  Oldtown  were 
characterized  by  a  kind  of  woodland  innocence,  and  were  not 
much  more  harmful  than  woodchucks  and  squirrels. 

Sam  Lawson,  for  instance,  though  he  dearly  loved  lazy  loung- 
ing, and  was  devoted  to  idle  tramps,  was  yet  a  most  edifying  va- 
grant. A  profane  word  was  an  abomination  in  his  sight ;  his 
speculations  on  doctrines  were  all  orthodox,  and  his  expositions 
of  Scripture  as  original  and  abundant  as  those  of  some  of  the 
dreamy  old  fathers.  As  a  general  thing  he  was  a  devout  Sun- 
day keeper  and  a  pillar  of  the  sanctuary,  playing  his  bass-viol  to 
the  most  mournful  tunes  with  evident  relish. 

I  remember  being  once  left  at  home  alone  on  Sunday,  with  an 
incipient  sore-throat,  when  Sam  volunteered  himself  as  my  nurse. 
In  the  course  of  the  forenoon  stillness,  a  wandering  Indian  came 
in,  who,  by  the  joint  influence  of  a  large  mug  of  cider  and  the 
weariness  of  his  tramp,  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep  on  our  kitchen 
floor,  and  somehow  Sam  was  beguiled  to  amuse  himself  by  tick- 
ling his  nose  with  a  broom-straw,  and  laughing,  until  the  tears 


892  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

rolled  down  his  cheeks,  at  the  sleepy  snorts  and  struggles  and 
odd  contortions  of  visage  which  were  the  results.  Yet  so  tender 
was  Sam's  conscience,  that  he  had  frequent  searchings  of  heart, 
afterward,  on  account  of  this  profanation  of  sacred  hours,  and  in- 
dulged in  floods  of  long-winded  penitence. 

Though  Sam  abhorred  all  profanity,  yet  for  seasons  of  extreme 
provocation  he  was  well  provided  with  that  gentler  Yankee  lit- 
any which  affords  to  the  irritated  mind  the  comfort  of  swearing, 
without  the  commission  of  the  sin.  Under  great  pressure  of 
provocation  Sam  Lawson  freely  said,  "  Darn  it ! "  The  word 
"  darn,"  in  fact,  was  to  the  conscientious  New  England  mind  a 
comfortable  resting-place,  a  refreshment  to  the  exacerbated  spirit, 
that  shrunk  from  that  too  similar  word  with  an  m  in  it. 

In  my  boyhood  I  sometimes  pondered  that  other  hard  word, 
and  vaguely  decided  to  speak  it,  with  that  awful  curiosity  which 
gives  to  an  unknown  sin  a  hold  upon  the  imagination.  What 
would  happen  if  I  should  say  "damn"?  I  dwelt  on  that 
subject  with  a  restless  curiosity  which  my  grandmother  cer- 
tainly would  have  told  me  was  a  temptation  of  the  Devil.  The 
horrible  desire  so  grew  on  me,  that  once,  in  the  sanctity  of  my 
own  private  apartment,  with  all  the  doors  shut  and  locked,  I 
thought  I  would  boldly  try  the  experiment  of  saying  "  damn  "  out 
loud,  and  seeing  what  would  happen.  I  did  it,  and  looked  up 
apprehensively  to  see  if  the  walls  were  going  to  fall  on  me,  but 
they  did  n't,  and  I  covered  up  my  head  in  the  bedclothes  and 
felt  degraded.  I  had  committed  the  sin,  and  got  not  even  the 
excitement  of  a  catastrophe.  The  Lord  apparently  did  not  think 
me  worth  his  notice. 

In  regard  to  the  awful  questions  of  my  grandmother's  blue 
book,  our  triad  grew  up  with  varying  influences.  Harry,  as  I 
have  said,  was  one  of  those  quiet  human  beings,  of  great  force  in 
native  individuality,  who  silently  draw  from  all  scenes  and  things 
just  those  elements  which  their  own  being  craves,  and  resolutely 
and  calmly  think  their  own  thoughts,  and  live  their  own  life,  amid 
the  most  discordant  influences  ;  just  as  the  fluid,  sparkling  waters 
of  a  mountain  brook  dart  this  way  and  that  amid  stones  and  rub- 
bish, and  hum  to  themselves  their  own  quiet,  hidden  tune. 


WE  BEGIN  TO  BE   GROWN-UP   PEOPLE.  393 

A  saintly  woman,  whose  heart  was  burning  itself  away  in  the 
torturing  fires  of  a  slow  martyrdom,  had  been  for  the  first  ten 
years  of  his  life  his  only  companion  and  teacher,  and,  dying, 
had  sealed  him  with  a  seal  given  from  a  visibly  opened  heaven ; 
and  thenceforward  no  theologies,  and  no  human  authority,  had 
the  power  and  weight  with  him  that  had  the  remembrance  of 
those  dying  eyes,  and  the  sanctity  of  those  last  counsels. 

By  native  descent  Harry  was  a  gentleman  of  the  peculiarly 
English  stock.  He  had  the  shy  reserve,  the  silent,  self-respecting 
pride  and  delicacy,  which  led  him  to  keep  his  own  soul  as  a 
castle,  and  that  interested,  because  it  left  a  sense  of  something 
veiled  and  unexpressed. 

We  were  now  eighteen  years  old,  and  yet,  during  all  these 
years  that  he  had  lived  side  by  side  with  me  in  closest  intimacy, 
he  had  never  spoken  to  me  freely  and  frankly  of  that  which  I 
afterwards  learned  was  always  the  intensest  and  bitterest  morti- 
fication of  his  life,  namely,  his  father's  desertion  of  his  mother 
and  himself.  Once  only  do  I  remember  ever  to  have  seen  him 
carried  away  by  anger,  and  that  was  when  a  coarse  and  cruel 
bully  among  the  school-boys  applied  to  him  a  name  which  re- 
flected on  his  mother's  honor.  The  anger  of  such  quiet  people 
is  often  a  perfect  convulsion,  and  it  was  so  in  this  case.  He 
seemed  to  blaze  with  it,  —  to  flame  up  and  redden  with  a  deliri- 
ous passion ;  and  he  knocked  down  and  stamped  upon  the  boy 
with  a  blind  fury  which  it  was  really  frightful  to  see,  and  which 
was  in  singular  contrast  with  his  usual  unprovokable  good-humor. 

Ellery  Davenport  had  made  good  his  promise  of  looking  for 
the  pocket-book  which  Harry's  father  had  left  in  his  country- 
seat,  and  the  marriage  certificate  of  his  mother  had  been  found 
in  it,  and  carefully  lodged  in  the  hands  of  Lady  Lothrop ;  but 
nothing  had  been  said  to  us  children  about  it ;  it  was  merely  held 
quietly,  as  a  document  that  might  be  of  use  in  time  in  bringing 
some  property  to  the  children.  And  even  at  the  time  of  this 
fight  with  the  school-boy,  Harry  said  so  little  afterward,  that  the 
real  depth  of  his  feeling  on  this  subject  was  not  suspected. 

I  have  reason  to  believe,  also,  that  Ellery  Davenport  did  suc- 
ceed in  making  the  father  of  Harry  and  Tina  aware  of  the 
17* 


894:  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

existence  of  two  such  promising  children,  and  of  the  respecta- 
bility of  the  families  into  which  they  had  been  adopted.  Captain 
Percival,  now  Sir  Harry  Percival,  had  married  again  in  Eng- 
land, so  Ellery  Davenport  had  informed  Miss  Mehitable  in  a 
letter,  and  had  a  son  by  this  marriage,  and  so  had  no  desire  to 
bring  to  view  his  former  connection.  It  was  understood,  I 
believe,  that  a  sum  of  money  was  to  be  transmitted  yearly  to  the 
hands  of  the  guardians  of  the  children,  for  their  benefit,  and  that 
they  were  to  be  left  undisturbed  in  the  possession  of  those  who 
had  adopted  them. 

Miss  Mehitable  had  suffered  so  extremely  herself  by  the  con- 
flict of  her  own  earnest,  melancholy  nature  with  the  theologic 
ideas  of  her  time,  that  she  shrunk  with  dread  from  imposing 
them  on  the  gay  and  joyous  little  being  whose  education  she 
had  undertaken.  Yet  she  was  impressed  by  that  awful  sense  of 
responsibility  which  is  one  of  the  most  imperative  characteristics 
of  the  New  England  mind;  and  she  applied  to  her  brother 
earnestly  to  know  what  she  should  teach  Tina  with  regard  to 
her  own  spiritual  position.  The  reply  of  her  brother  was  char- 
acteristiC;  and  we  shall  give  it  here :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  SISTER  :  —  I  am  a  Puritan,  —  the  son,  the  grand- 
son, the  great-grandson  of  Puritans,  —  and  I  say  to  you,  Plant 
the  footsteps  of  your  child  on  the  ground  of  the  old  Cambridge 
Platform,  and  teach  her  as  Winthrop  and  Dudley  and  the 
Mathers  taught  their  children,  —  that  she  'is  already  a  member 
in  the  Church  of  Christ,  —  that  she  is  in  covenant  with  God,  and 
hath  the  seal  thereof  upon  her,  to  wit,  baptism  ;  and  so,  if  not 
regenerate,  is  yet  in  a  more  hopeful  way  of  attaining  regenera- 
tion and  all  spiritual  blessings,  both  of  the  covenant  and  seal.'  * 
By  teaching  the  child  this,  you  will  place  her  mind  in  natural  and 
healthful  relations  with  God  and  religion.  She  will  feel  in  her 
Father's  house,  and  under  her  Father's  care,  and  the  long  and 
weary  years  of  a  sense  of  disinheritance  with  which  you  strug- 
gled will  be  spared  to  her. 

"  J  hold  Jonathan  Edwards  to  have  been  the  greatest  man,  since 

*  Cambridge  Platform.    Mather's  Magnalia,  page  227,  article  7. 


WE  BEGIN  TO   BE   GROWN-UP   PEOPLE.  395 

St.  Augustine,  that  Christianity  has  turned  out.  But  when  a 
great  man,  instead  of  making  himself  a  great  ladder  for  feeble 
folks  to  climb  on,  strikes  away  the  ladder  and  bids  them  come  to 
where  he  stands  at  a  step,  his  greatness  and  his  goodness  both 
may  prove  unfortunate  for  those  who  come  after  him.  I  go  for 
the  good  old  Puritan  platform. 

"  Your  affectionate  brother, 

"  JONATHAN  ROSSITER." 

The  consequence  of  all  this  was,  that  Tina  adopted  in  her  glad 
and  joyous  nature  the  simple,  helpful  faith  of  her  brother,  —  the 
faith  in  an  ever  good,  ever  present,  ever  kind  Father,  whose  child 
she  was  and  in  whose  household  she  had  grown  up.  She  had  a 
most  unbounded  faith  in  prayer,  and  in  the  indulgence  and  tender- 
ness of  the  Heavenly  Power.  All  things  to  her  eyes  were  seen 
through  the  halo  of  a  cheerful,  sanguine,  confiding  nature.  Life 
had  for  her  no  cloud  or  darkness  or  mystery. 

As  to  myself,  I  had  been  taught  in  the  contrary  doctrines, — 
that  I  was  a  disinherited  child  of  wrath.  It  is  true  that  this  doc- 
trine was  contradicted  by  the  whole  influence  of  the  minister, 
who,  as  I  have  said  before,  belonged  to  the  Arminian  wing  of 
the  Church,  and  bore  very  mildly  on  all  these  great  topics.  My 
grandmother  sometimes  endeavored  to  stir  him  up  to  more  de- 
cisive orthodoxy,  and  especially  to  a  more  vigorous  presentation 
of  the  doctrine  of  native  human  depravity.  I  remember  once," 
in  her  zeal,  her  quoting  to  him  as  a  proof-text  the  quatrain 
of  Dr.  Watts:  — 

;'  Conceived  in  sin,  0  woful  state! 

Before  we  draw  our  breath, 
The  first  young  pulse  begins  to  beat 
Iniquity  and  death." 

"  That,  madam,"  said  Dr.  Lothrop,  who  never  forgot  to  be  the 
grand  gentleman  under  any  circumstances,  —  "  that,  madam,  is 
not  the  New  Testament,  but  Dr.  Isaac  Watts,  allow  me  to  remind 
you." 

"Well,"  said  my  grandmother,  "Dr.  Watts  got  it  from  the 
Bible." 


396  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"Yes,  madam,  a  very  long  way  from  the  Bible,  allow  me  to 
say." 

And  yet,  after  all,  though  I  did  not  like  my  grandmother's 
Calvinistic  doctrines,  I  must  confess  that  she,  and  all  such  as 
thought  like  her,  always  impressed  me  as  being  more  earnestly 
religious  than  those  that  held  the  milder  and  more  moderate 
belief. 

Once  in  a  while  old  Dr.  Stern  would  preach  in  our  neighbor- 
hood, and  I  used  to  go  to  hear  him.  Everybody  went  to  hear 
him.  A  sermon  on  reprobation  from  Dr.  Stern  would  stir  up  a 
whole  community  in  those  days,  jugt  as  a  presidential  election 
stirs  one  up  now.  And  I  remember  that  he  used  to  impress 
me  as  being  more  like  a  messenger  from  the  other  world  than 
most  ministers.  Dr.  Lothrop's  sermons,  by  the  side  of  his,  were 
like  Pope's  Pastorals  beside  the  Tragedies  of  JEschylus.  Dr. 
Lothrop's  discourses  were  smooth,  they  were  sensible,  they  were 
well  worded,  and  everybody  went  to  sleep  under  them;  but 
Dr.  Stern  shook  and  swayed  his  audience  like  a  field  of  grain 
under  a  high  wind.  There  was  no  possibility  of  not  listening 
to  him,  or  of  hearing  him  with  indifference,  for  he  dealt  in  asser- 
tions that  would  have  made  the  very  dead  turn  in  their  graves. 
One  of  his  sermons  was  talked  of  for  months  afterward,  with  a 
sort  of  suppressed  breath  of  supernatural  awe,  such  as  men  would 
use  in  discussing  the  reappearance  of  a  soul  from  the  other 
world. 

But  meanwhile  I  believed  neither  my  grandmother,  nor  Dr. 
Stern,  nor  the  minister.  The  eternal  questions  seethed  and 
boiled  and  burned  in  my  mind  without  answer.  It  was  not  my 
own  personal  destiny  that  lay  with  weight  on  my  mind ;  it  was 
the  incessant,  restless  desire  to  know  the  real  truth  from  some  un- 
answerable authority.  I  longed  for  a  visible,  tangible  communion 
with  God ;  I  longed  to  see  the  eternal  beauty,  to  hear  a  friendly 
voice  from  the  eternal  silence.  Among  all  the  differences  with 
regard  to  doctrinal  opinion,  I  could  see  clearly  that  there  were 
two  classes  of  people  in  the  world,  —  those  who  had  found  God 
and  felt  him  as  a  living  power  upon  their  spirits,  and  those  who 
had  not ;  and  that  unknown  experience  was  what  I  sought. 


WE   BEGIN  TO   BE   GROWN-UP   PEOPLE,  397 

Such,  then,  were  we  three  children  when  Harry  and  I  were  in 
our  eighteenth  year  and  Tina  in  her  fifteenth.  And  just  at  this 
moment  there  was  among  the  high  consulting  powers  that  regu- 
lated our  destiny  a  movement  as  to  what  further  was  to  be  done 
with  the  three  that  had  hitherto  grown  up  together. 

Now,  if  the  reader  has  attentively  read  ancient  and  modern 
history,  he  will  observe  that  there  is  a  class  of  women  to  be 
found  in  this  lower  world,  who,  wherever  they  are,  are  sure  to  be 
in  some  way  the  first  or  the  last  cause  of  everything  that  is  going 
on.  Everybody  knows,  for  instance,  that  Helen  was  the  great 
instigator  of  the  Trojan  war,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  we 
should  have  had  no  Homer.  In  France,  Madame  Recamier  was, 
for  the  time  being,  reason  enough  for  almost  anything  that  any 
man  in  France  did ;  and  yet  one  cannot  find  out  that  Madame 
Recamier  had  any  uncommon  genius  of  her  own,  except  the 
sovereign  one  of  charming  every  human  being  that  came  in  her 
way,  so  that  all  became  her  humble  and  subservient  subjects. 
The  instance  is  a  marked  one,  because  it  operated  in  a  wide 
sphere,  on  very  celebrated  men,  in  an  interesting  historic  period. 
But  it  individualizes  a  kind  of  faculty  which,  generally  speaking, 
is  peculiar  to  women,  though  it  is  in  some  instances  exercised 
by  men,  —  a  faculty  of  charming  and  controlling  every  person 
with  whom  one  has  to  do. 

Tina  was  now  verging  toward  maturity  ;  she  was  in  just  that 
delicious  period  in  which  the  girl  has  all  the  privileges  and 
graces  of  childhood,  its  freedom  of  movement  and  action,  bright- 
ened with  a  sort  of  mysterious  aurora  by  the  coming  dawn 
of  womanhood ;  and  everything  indicated  that  she  was  to  be  one 
of  this  powerful  class  of  womankind.  Can  one  analyze  the  charm 
which  such  women  possess  ?  I  have  a  theory  that,  in  all  cases, 
there  is  a  certain  amount  of  genius  with  it,  —  genius  which  does 
not  declare  itself  in  literature,  but  in  social  life,  and  which  de- 
votes itself  to  pleasing,  as  other  artists  devote  themselves  to 
painting  or  to  poetry. 

Tina  had  no  inconsiderable  share  of  self-will ;  she  was  very 
pronounced  in  her  tastes,  and  fond  of  her  own  way  ;  but  she  had 
received  from  nature  this  passion  for  entertaining,  and  been 


398  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

endowed  with  varied  talents  in  this  line  which  made  her  always, 
from  early  childhood,  the  coveted  and  desired  person  in  every 
circle.  Not  a  visage  in  Oldtown  was  so  set  in  grimness  of  care, 
that  it  did  not  relax  its  lines  when  it  saw  Tina  coming  down  the 
street ;  for  Tina  could  mimic  and  sing  and  dance,  and  fling  back 
joke  for  joke  in  a  perfect  meteoric  shower.  So  long  as  she  enter- 
tained, she  was  perfectly  indifferent  who  the  party  was.  She 
would  display  her  accomplishments  to  a  set  of  strolling  Indians, 
or  for  Sam  Lawson  and  Jake  Marshall,  as  readily  as  for  any  one 
else.  She  would  run  up  and  catch  the  minister  by  the  elbow  as 
he  solemnly  and  decorously  moved  down  street,  and  his  face  al- 
ways broke  into  a  laugh  at  the  sight  of  her. 

The  minister's  lady,  and  Aunt  Lois,  and  Miss  Deborah  Kit- 
tery,  while  they  used  to  mourn  in  secret  places  over  her  want  of 
decorum  in  thus  displaying  her  talents  before  the  lower  classes, 
would  afterward  laugh  till  the  tears  rolled  down  their  cheeks  and 
their  ancient  whalebone  stays  creaked,  when  she  would  do  the 
same  thing  over  in  a  select  circle  for  them. 

We  have  seen  how  completely  she  had  conquered  Polly,  and 
what  difficulty  Miss  Mehitable  found  in  applying  the  precepts  of 
Mrs.  Chapone  and  Miss  Hannah  More  to  her  case.  The  pat- 
tern young  lady  of  the  period,  in  the  eyes  of  all  respectable 
females,  was  expressed  by  Lu cilia  Stanley,  in  "  Coelebs  in 
Search  of  a  Wife."  But  when  Miss  Mehitable,  after  delighting 
herself  with  the  Johnsonian  balance  of  the  rhythmical  sentences 
which  described  this  paragon  as  "  not  so  much  perfectly  beauti- 
ful as  perfectly  elegant,"  —  this  model  of  consistency,  who  always 
blushed  at  the  right  moment,  spoke  at  the  right  moment,  and 
stopped  at  the  right  moment,  and  was,  in  short,  a  woman  made  to 
order,  precisely  to  suit  a  bachelor  who  had  traversed  the  whole 
earth,  "  not  expecting  perfection,  but  looking  for  consistency,"  — 
when,  after  all  these  charming  visions,  she  loooked  at  Tina, 
she  was  perfectly  dismayed  at  contemplating  her  scholar.  She 
felt  the  power  by  which  Tina  continually  charmed  and  beguiled 
her,  and  the  empire  which  she  exercised  over  her ;  and,  with 
wonderful  good  sense,  she  formally  laid  down  the  weapons  of 
authority  when  she  found  she  had  no  heart  to  use  them. 


WE  BEGIN  TO  BE   GROWN-UP   PEOPLE.  399 

"  My  child,"  she  said  to  her  one  day,  when  that  young  lady 
was  about  eleven  years  of  age,  "  you  are  a  great  deal  stronger 
than  I.  I  am  weak  because  I  love  you,  and  because  I  have  been 
broken  by  sorrow,  and  because,  being  a  poor  old  woman,  I  don't 
trust  myself.  And  you  are  young  and  strong  and  fearless ;  but 
remember,  dear,  the  life  you  have  to  live  is  yours  and  not  mine. 
I  have  not  the  heart  to  force  you  to  take  my  way  instead  of  your 
own,  but  I  shall  warn  you  that  it  will  be  better  you  should  do  so. 
and  then  leave  you  free.  If  you  don't  take  my  way,  I  shall  do 
the  very  best  for  you  that  I  can  in  your  way,  and  you  must  take 
the  responsibility  in  the  end." 

This  was  the  only  kind  of  system  which  Miss  Mehitable  was 
capable  of  carrying  out.  She  was  wise,  shrewd,  and  loving,  and 
she  gradually  controlled  her  little  charge  more  and  more  by 
simple  influence,  but  she  had  to  meet  in  her  education  the 
opposition  force  of  that  universal  petting  and  spoiling  which 
everybody  in  society  gives  to  an  entertaining  child. 

Life  is  such  a  monotonous,  dull  affair,  that  anybody  who  has 
the  gift  of  making  it  pass  off  gayly  is  in  great  demand.  Tina 
was  sent  for  to  the  parsonage,  and  the  minister  took  her  on  his 
knee  and  encouraged  her  to  chatter  all  sorts  of  egregious  non- 
sense to  him.  And  Miss  Deborah  Kittery  insisted  on  having  her 
sent  for  to  visit  them  in  Boston,  and  old  Madam  Kittery  over 
whelmed  her  with  indulgence  and  caresses.  Now  Tina  loved 
praises  and  caresses  ;  incense  was  the  very  breath  of  her  nostrils ; 
and  she  enjoyed  being  feted  and  petted  as  much  as  a  cat  enjoys 
being  stroked. 

It  will  not  be  surprising  to  one  who  considers  the  career  of  this 
kind  of  girl  to  hear  that  she  was  not  much  of  a  student.  What 
she  learned  was  by  impulses  and  fits  and  starts,  and  all  of  it  im- 
mediately used  for  some  specific  purpose  of  entertainment,  so 
that  among  simple  people  she  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  prod- 
igy of  information,  on  a  very  small  capital  of  actual  knowledge. 
Miss  Mehitable  sighed  after  thorough  knowledge  and  discipline 
of  mind  for  her  charge,  but  she  invariably  found  all  Tina's 
teachers  becoming  accomplices  in  her  superficial  practices  by 
praising  and  caressing  her  when  she  had  been  least  faithful, 


400  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

always  apologizing  for  her  deficiencies,  and  speaking  in  the  most 
flattering  terms  of  her  talents.  During  the  last  year  the  school- 
master had  been  observed  always  to  walk  home  with  her  and 
bring  her  books,  with  a  humble,  trembling  subserviency  and 
prostrate  humility  which  she  rewarded  with  great  apparent  con- 
tempt ;  and  finally  she  announced  to  Miss  Mehitable  that  she 
"  did  n't  intend  to  go  to  school  any  more,  because  the  master 
acted  so  silly." 

Now  Miss  Mehitable,  during  all  her  experience  of  life,  had 
always  associated  with  the  men  of  her  acquaintance  without  ever 
being  reminded  in  any  particular  manner  of  the  difference  of  sex, 
and  it  was  a  subject  which,  therefore,  was  about  the  last  to  enter 
into  her  calculations  with  regard  to  her  little  charge.  So  she 
said,  "  My  dear,  you  should  n't  speak  in  that  way  about  your 
teacher ;  he  knows  a  great  deal  more  than  you  do." 

"  He  may  know  more  than  I  do  about  arithmetic,  but  he 
does  n't  know  how  to  behave.  What  right  has  he  to  put  his  old 
hand  under  my  chin?  and  I  won't  have  him  putting  his  arm 
round  me  when  he  sets  my  copies !  and  I  told  him  to-day  he 
should  n't  carry  my  books  home  any  more,  —  so  there  !  " 

Miss  Mehitable  was  struck  dumb.  She  went  that  afternoon 
and  visited  the  minister's  lady. 

"  Depend  upon  it,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Lothrop,  "  it 's  time  to 
try  a  course  of  home  reading/' 

A  bright  idea  now  struck  Miss  Mehitable.  Her  cousin,  Mr. 
Mordecai  Rossiter,  had  recently  been  appointed  a  colleague  with 
the  venerable  Dr.  Lothrop.  He  was  a  young  man,  finely  read, 
and  of  great  solidity  and  piety,  and  Miss  Mehitable  resolved  to 
invite  him  to  take  up  his  abode  with  them  for  the  purpose  of  as- 
sisting her  educational  efforts.  Mr.  Mordecai  Rossiter  accord- 
ingly took  up  his  abode  in  the  family,  used  to  conduct  family 
worship,  and  was  expected  now  and  then  to  drop  words  of  good 
advice  and  wholesome  counsel  to  form  the  mind  of  Miss  Tina. 
A  daily  hour  was  appointed  during  which  he  was  to  superintend 
her  progress  in  arithmetic. 

Mr.  Mordecai  Rossiter  was  one  of  the  most  simple-minded, 
honest,  sincere  human  beings  that  ever  wore  a  black  coat.  He 


WE  BEGIN  TO  BE  GROWN-UP  PEOPLE.  401 

accepted  his  charge  in  sacred  simplicity,  and  took  a  prayerful 
view  of  his  young  catechumen,  whom  he  was  in  hopes  to  make 
realize,  by  degrees,  the  native  depravity  of  her  own  heart,  and 
to  lead  through  a  gradual  process  to  the  best  of  all  results. 

Miss  Tina  also  took  a  view  of  her  instructor,  and  without  any 
evil  intentions,  simply  following  her  strongest  instinct,  which  was 
to  entertain  and  please,  she  very  soon  made  herself  an  exceed- 
ingly delightful  pupil.  Since  religion  was  evidently  the  engross- 
ing subject  in  his  mind,  Tina  also  turned  her  attention  to  it, 
and  instructed  and  edified  him  with  flights  of  devout  eloquence 
which  were  to  him  perfectly  astonishing.  Tina  would  discourse 
on  the  goodness  of  God,  and  ornament  her  remarks  with  so 
many  flowers,  and  stars,  and  poetical  fireworks,  and  be  so  rapt 
and  carried  away  with  her  subject,  that  he  would  sit  and  listen 
to  her  as  if  she  was  an  inspired  being,  and  wholly  forget  the 
analysis  which  he  meant  to  propose  to  her,  as  to  whether  her 
emotions  of  love  to  God  proceeded  from  self-love  or  from  dis- 
interested benevolence. 

As  I  have  said,  Tina  had  a  genius  for  poetry,  and  had  em- 
ployed the  dull  hours  which  children  of  her  age  usually  spend 
in  church  in  reading  the  psalm-book  and  committing  to  mem- 
ory all  the  most  vividly  emotional  psalms  and  hymns.  And 
these  she  was  fond  of  repeating  with  great  fervor  and  enthusiasm 
to  her  admiring  listener. 

Miss  Mehitable  considered  that  the  schoolmaster  had  been  an 
ill-taught,  presumptuous  man,  who  had  ventured  to  take  improper 
liberties  with  a  mere  child ;  but,  when  she  established  this  con- 
nection between  this  same  child  and  a  solemn  young  minister,  it 
never  occurred  to  her  to  imagine  that  there  would  be  any  em- 
barrassing consequences  from  the  relation.  She  considered  Tina 
as  a  mere  infant,  —  as  not  yet  having  approached  the  age  when 
the  idea  of  anything  like  love  or  marriage  could  possibly  be 
suggested  to  her. 

In  course  of  time,  however,  she  could  not  help  remarking  that  her 
cousin  was  in  some  respects  quite  an  altered  man.  He  reformed 
many  little  negligences  in  regard  to  his  toilet  which  Miss  Tina 
had  pointed  out  to  him  with  the  nonchalant  freedom  of  a  young 


402  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

empress.  And  he  would  run  and  spring  and  fetch  and  carry  in 
her  service  with  a  zeal  and  alertness  quite  wonderful  to  behold. 
He  expressed  privately  to  Miss  Mehitable  the  utmost  astonish- 
ment at  her  mental  powers,  and  spoke  of  the  wonderful  work  of 
divine  grace  which  appeared  to  have  made  such  progress  in  her 
heart.  Never  had  he  been  so  instructed  and  delighted  before 
by  the  exercises  of  any  young  person.  And  he  went  so  far  as  to 
assure  Miss  Mehitable  that  in  many  things  he  should  be  only  too 
happy  to  sit  at  her  feet  and  learn  of  her. 

"  Good  gracious  me ! "  said  Miss  Mehitable  to  herself,  with  a 
sort  of  half  start  of  awakening,  though  not  yet  fully  come  to 
consciousness ;  "  what  does  ail  everybody  that  gets  hold  of 
Tina?" 

What  got  hold  of  her  cousin  in  this  case  she  had  an  opportu- 
nity of  learning,  not  long  after,  by  overhearing  him  tell  her 
young  charge  that  she  was  an  angel,  and  that  he  asked  nothing 
more  of  Heaven  than  to  be  allowed  to  follow  her  lead  through 
life.  Now  Miss  Tina  accepted  this,  as  she  did  all  other  incense, 
with  great  satisfaction.  Not  that  she  had  the  slightest  idea  of 
taking  this  clumsy-footed  theological  follower  round  the  world 
with  her  ;  but  having  the  highest  possible  respect  for  him,  know- 
ing that  Miss  Mehitable  and  the  minister  and  his  wife  thought 
him  a  person  of  consideration,,  she  had  felt  it  her  duty  to  please 
him, — had  taxed  her  powers  of  pleasing  to  the  utmost,  in  his  own 
line,  and  had  met  with  this  gratifying  evidence  of  success. 

Miss  Mehitable  was  for  once  really  angry.  She  sent  for  her 
cousin  to  a  private  interview,  and  thus  addressed  him :  — 

"  Cousin  Mordecai,  I  thought  you  were  a  man  of  sense  when 
I  put  this  child  under  your  care !  My  great  trouble  in  bringing 
her  up  is,  that  everybody  flatters  her  and  defers  to  her ;  but  I 
thought  that  in  you  I  had  got  a  man  that  could  be  depended 
on!" 

"I  do  not  flatter  her,  cousin,"  replied  the  young  minister, 
earnestly. 

"  You  pretend  you  don't  flatter  her  ?  did  n't  I  hear  you  calling 
her  an  angel  ?  " 

«  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  did ;  she  is  an  angel,"  said  Mr.  Mor- 


WE  BEGIN   TO  BE   GEOWN-UP   PEOPLE.  403 

decai  Rossiter,  with  tears  in  his  eyes ;  "  she  is  the  most  perfectly 
heavenly  being  I  ever  saw ! " 

"  Ah !  bah ! "  said  Miss  Mehitable,  with  intense  disgust ;  "  what 
fools  you  men  are !  " 

Miss  Mehitable  now,  much  as  she  disliked  it,  felt  bound  to  have 
some  cautionary  conversation  with  Miss  Tina. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said ;  "  you  must  be  very  careful  in  your 
treatment  of  Cousin  Mordecai.  I  overheard  some  things  he  said 
to  you  this  morning  which  I  do  not  approve  of." 

"  0  yes,  Aunty,  he  does  talk  in  a  silly  way  sometimes.  Men 
always  begin  to  talk  that  way  to  me.  Why,  you  've  no  idea  the 
things  they  will  say.  Well,  of  course  I  don't  believe  them  ;  it 's 
only  a  foolish  way  they  have,  but  they  all  talk  just  alike." 

"  But  I  thought  my  cousin  would  have  had  his  mind  on  better 
things,"  said  Miss  Mehitable.  "  The  idea  of  his  making  love  to 
you!" 

"  I  know  it ;  only  think  of  it,  Aunty  !  how  very  funny  it  is  ! 
and  there,  I  have  n't  done  a  single  thing  to  make  him.  I  've 
been  just  as  religious  as  I  could  be,  and  said  hymns  to  him,  and 
everything,  and  given  him  good  advice,  —  ever  so  much,  —  be- 
cause, you  see,  he  did  n't  know  about  a  great  many  things  till  I 
told  him." 

"  But,  my  dear,  all  this  is  going  to  make  him  too  fond  of  you  ; 
you  know  you  ought  not  to  be  thinking  of  such  things  now." 

"  What  things,  Aunty  ?  "  said  the  catechumen,  innocently. 

"  Why,  love  and  marriage ;  that 's  what  such  feelings  will 
come  to,  if  you  encourage  them." 

"  Marriage !  O  dear  me,  what  nonsense !  "  and  Tina  laughed 
till  the  room  rang  again.  "  Why,  dear  Aunty,  what  absurd  ideas 
have  got  into  your  head  !  Of  course  you  can't  think  that  he  's 
thinking  of  any  such  thing ;  he 's  only  getting  very  fond  of 
me,  and  I  'm  trying  to  make  him  have  a  good  time,  —  that 's 
all." 

But  Miss  Tina  found  that  was  not  all,  and  was  provoked 
beyond  endurance  at  the  question  proposed  to  her  in  plain  terms, 
whether  she  would  not  look  upon  her  teacher  as  one  destined  in 
a  year  or  two  to  become  her  husband.  Thereupon  at  once  the 


404  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

whole  gay  fabric  dissolved  like  a  dream.  Tina  was  as  vexed  at 
the  proposition  as  a  young  unbroken  colt  is  at  the  sight  of  a 
halter.  She  cried,  and  said  she  did  n't  like  him,  she  could  n't 
bear  him,  and  she  never  wanted  to  see  him  again,  —  that  he  was 
silly  and  ridiculous  to  talk  so  to  a  little  girl.  And  Miss  Mehit- 
able  sat  down  to  write  a  long  letter  to  her  brother,  to  inquire  what 
she  should  do  next. 


WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO  WITH  TINA?  405 

CHAPTER    XXXI. 

WHAT    SHALL   WE   DO    WITH   TINA? 

"ll/TY  DEAR  BROTHER: — I  am  in  a  complete embarras  what 
-^-'-*-  to  do  with  Tina.  She  is  the  very  light  of  my  eyes,  —  the 
sweetest,  gayest,  brightest,  and  best-meaning  little  mortal  that 
ever  was  made ;  but  somehow  or  other  I  fear  I  am  not  the  one 
that  ought  to  have  undertaken  to  bring  her  up. 

"  She  has  a  good  deal  of  self-will ;  so  much  that  I  have  long 
felt  it  would  be  quite  impossible  for  me  to  control  her  merely  by 
authority.  In  fact  I  laid  down  my  sceptre  long  ago,  such  as  it 
was.  I  never  did  have  much  of  a  gift  in  that  way.  But  Ti- 
na's self-will  runs  in  the  channel  of  a  most  charming  persua- 
siveness. She  has  all  sorts  of  pretty  phrases,  and  would  talk 
a  bird  off  from  a  bush,  or  a  trout  out  of  a  brook,  by  dint  of 
sheer  persistent  eloquence  ;  and  she  is  always  so  delightfully 
certain  that  her  way  is  the  right  one  and  the  best  for  me  and  all 
concerned.  Then  she  has  no  end  of  those  peculiar  gifts  of  enter- 
tainment which  are  rather  dangerous  things  for  a  young  woman. 
She  is  a  born  mimic,  she  is  a  natural  actress,  and  she  has  always 
a  repartee  or  a  smart  saying  quite  apropos  at  the  tip  of  her 
tongue.  All  this  makes  her  an  immense  favorite  with  people 
who  have  no  responsibility  about  her,  —  who  merely  want  to  be 
amused  with  her  drolleries,  and  then  shake  their  heads  wisely 
when  she  is  gone,  and  say  that  Miss  Mehitable  Rossiter  ought  to 
keep  a  close  hand  on  that  girl. 

"  It  seems  to  be  the  common  understanding  that  everybody 
but  me  is  to  spoil  her ;  for  there  is  n't  anybody,  not  even  Dr. 
Lothrop  and  his  wife,  that  won't  connive  at  her  mimicking  and 
fripperies,  and  then  talk  gravely  with  me  afterward  about  the 
danger  of  these  things,  as  if  I  were  the  only  person  to  say  any- 
thing disagreeable  to  her.  But  then,  I  can  see  very  plainly  that 
the  little  chit  is  in  danger  on  all  sides  of  becoming  trivial  and 


406  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

superficial,  —  of  mistaking  wit  for  wisdom,  and  thinking  she 
has  answered  an  argument  when  she  has  said  a  smart  thing  and 
raised  a  laugh. 

"  Of  late,  trouble  of  another  kind  has  been  added.  Tina  is  a 
little  turned  of  fifteen ;  she  is  going  to  be  very  beautiful ;  she  is 
very  pretty  now ;  and,  in  addition  to  all  my  other  perplexities, 
the  men  are  beginning  to  talk  that  atrocious  kind  of  nonsense  to 
her  which  they  seem  to  think  they  must  talk  to  young  girls.  I 
have  had  to  take  her  away  from  the  school  on  account  of  the 
schoolmaster,  and  when  I  put  her  under  the  care  of  Cousin  Mor- 
decai  Rossiter,  whom  I  thought  old  enough,  and  discreet  enough, 
to  make  a  useful  teacher  to  her,  he  has  acted  like  a  natural  fool. 
I  have  no  kind  of  patience  with  him.  I  would  not  have  believed 
a  man  could  be  so  devoid  of  common  sense.  I  shall  have  to  send 
Tina  somewhere,  —  though  I  can't  bear  to  part  with  her,  and  it 
seems  like  taking  the  very  sunshine  out  of  the  house ;  so  I  re- 
member what  you  told  me  about  sending  her  up  to  you. 

"  Lady  Lothrop  and  Lois  Badger  and  I  have  been  talking  to- 
gether, and  we  think  the  boys  might  as  well  go  up  too  to  your 
academy,  as  our  present  schoolmaster  is  not  very  competent,  and 
you  will  give  them  a  thorough  fitting  for  college." 

To  this  came  the  following  reply :  — 

"  SISTER  MEHITABLE  :  —  The  thing  has  happened  that  I 
have  foreseen.  Send  her  up  here ;  she  shall  board  in  the  minis- 
ter's family ;  and  his  daughter  Esther,  who  is  wisest,  virtuousest, 
discreetest,  best,  shall  help  keep  her  in  order. 

"  Send  the  boys  along,  too ;  they  are  bright  fellows,  as  I  re- 
member, and  I  would  like  to  h#ve  a  hand  at  them.  One  of  them 
might  live  with  us  and  do  the  out-door  chores  and  help  hoe  in 
the  garden,  and  the  other  might  do  the  same  for  the  minister. 
So  send  them  along. 

"  Your  affectionate  brother, 

"JONATHAN  ROSSITER." 

This  was  an  era  in  our  lives.  Harry  and  I  from  this  time  felt 
ourselves  to  be  men,  and  thereafter  adopted  the  habit  of  speaking 


WHAT   SHALL  WE  DO   WITH   TINA?  407 

of  ourselves  familiarly  as  "a  man  of  my  character,"  "a  man 
of  my  age,"  and  "  a  man  in  my  circumstances."  The  comfort 
and  dignity  which  this  imparted  to  us  were  wonderful.  We 
also  discussed  Tina  in  a  very  paternal  way,  and  gravely  consid- 
ered what  was  best  for  her.  We  were,  of  course,  properly 
shocked  at  the  behavior  of  the  schoolmaster,  and  greatly  ap- 
plauded her  spirit  in  defending  herself  against  his  presumption. 

Then  Tina  had  told  Harry  and  me  all  about  her  trouble  with 
the  minister,  and  I  remember  at  this  time  how  extremely  aged 
and  venerable  I  felt,  and  what  quantities  of  good  advice  I  gave 
to  Tina,  which  was  all  based  on  the  supposition  of  her  danger- 
ously powerful  charms  and  attractions.  This  is  the  edifying  kind 
of  counsel  with  which  young  gentlemen  of  my  age  instruct  their 
lady  friends,  and  it  will  be  seen  at  once  that  advice  and  admo- 
nition which  rest  on  the  theory  of  superhuman  excellence  and 
attractions  in  the  advised  party  are  far  more  agreeable  than  the 
rough,  common  admonitions,  generally  addressed  to  boys  at  this 
time  of  life,  which  are  unseasoned  by  any  such  pleasing  hallu- 
cination. 

There  is  now  a  general  plea  in  society  that  women  shall  be 
educated  more  as  men  are,  and  we  hear  much  talk  as  if  the  dif- 
ference between  them  and  our  sex  is  merely  one  of  difference  in 
education.  But  how  could  it  be  helped  that  Tina  should  be  edu- 
cated and  formed  wholly  unlike  Harry  and  myself,  when  every 
address  made  to  her  from  her  childhood  was  of  necessity  wholly 
different  from  what  would  be  made  to  a  boy  in  the  same  circum- 
stances ?  and  particularly  when  she  carried  with  her  always  that 
dizzying,  blinding  charm  which  turned  the  head  of  every  boy 
and  man  that  undertook  to  talk  reason  to  her  ? 

In  my  own  mind  I  had  formed  my  plan  of  life.  I  was  to  go 
to  college,  and  therefrom  soar  to  an  unmeasured  height  of  liter- 
ary distinction,  and  when  I  had  won  trophies  and  laurels  and  re- 
nown, I  was  to  come  back  and  lay  all  at  Tina's  feet.  This  was 
what  Harry  and  I  agreed  on,  in  many  a  conversation,  as  the 
destined  result  of  our  friendship. 

Harry  and  I  had  sworn  friendship  by  all  the  solemn  oaths  and 
forms  known  in  ancient  or  modern  history.  We  changed  names 


408  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

with  each  other,  and  in  our  private  notes  and  letters  addressed 
each  by  the  name  of  the  other,  and  felt  as  if  this  was  some  sacred 
and  wonderful  peculiarity.  Tina  called  us  both  brothers,  and 
this  we  agreed  was  the  best  means  of  preserving  her  artless 
mind  unalarmed  and  undisturbed  until  the  future  hour  of  the 
great  declaration.  As  for  Tina,  she  absolutely  could  not  keep 
anything  to  herself  if  she  tried.  Whatever  agitated  her  mind  or 
interested  it  had  to  be  told  to  us.  She  did  not  seem  able  to  rest 
satisfied  with  herself  till  she  had  proved  to  us  that  she  was  ex- 
actly right,  or  made  us  share  her  triumphs  in  her  achievements, 
or  her  perplexity  in  her  failures. 

At  this  crisis  Miss  Mehitable  talked  very  seriously  and  sensi- 
bly with  her  little  charge.  She  pointed  out  to  her  the  danger  of 
living  a  trivial  and  superficial  life>  —  of  becoming  vain,  and  living 
merely  for  admiration.  She  showed  her  how  deficient  she  had 
been  in  those  attainments  which  require  perseverance  and  stead- 
iness of  mind,  and  earnestly  recommended  her  now  to  devote 
herself  to  serious  studies. 

Nobody  was  a  better  subject  to  preach  such  a  sermon  to  than 
Tina.  She  would  even  take  up  the  discourse  and  enlarge  upon 
it,  and  suggest  new  and  fanciful  illustrations;  she  entered  into 
the  project  of  Miss  Mehitable  with  enthusiasm;  she  confessed  all 
her  faults,  and  resolved  hereafter  to  become  a  pattern  of  the  con- 
trary virtues.  And  then  she  came  and  related  the  whole  conver- 
sation to  us,  and  entered  into  the  project  of  devoting  herself  to 
study  with  such  a  glow  of  enthusiasm,  that  we  formed  at  once 
the  most  brilliant  expectations. 

The  town  of  Cloudland,  whither  we  were  going,  was  a  two 
days'  journey  up  into  the  mountains ;  and,  as  travelling  facilities 
then  were,  it  was  viewed  as  such  an  undertaking  to  send  us 
there,  that  the  whole  family  conclave  talked  gravely  of  it  and  dis- 
cussed it  in  every  point  of  view,  for  a  fortnight  before  we  started. 
Our  Uncle  Jacob,  the  good,  meek,  quiet  farmer  of  whom  I  have 
spoken,  had  a  little  business  in  regard  to  some  property  that 
had  been  left  by  a  relative  of  his  wife  in  that  place,  and  sug- 
gested the  possibility  of  going  up  with  us  himself.  So  weighty  a 
move  was  at  first  thrown  out  as  a  mere  proposal  to  be  talked  of 


WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO  WITH  TINA?  409 

in  the  family  circle.  Grandmother  and  Aunt  Lois  and  Aunt 
Keziah  and  my  mother  picked  over  and  discussed  this  proposi- 
tion for  days,  as  a  lot  of  hens  will  pick  over  an  ear  of  corn,  turn- 
ing it  from  side  to  side,  and  looking  at  it  from  every  possible 
point  of  view.  Uncle  Fliakim  had  serious  thoughts  of  offering 
his  well-worn  equipage,  but  it  was  universally  admitted  that  his 
constant  charities  had  kept  it  in  such  a  condition  of  frailty  that 
the  mountain  roads  would  finish  it,  and  thus  deprive  multitudes 
of  the  female  population  of  Oldtown  of  an  establishment  which 
was  about  as  much  their  own  as  if  they  had  the  care  and  keep- 
ing of  it. 

I  don't  know  anybody  who  could  have  been  taken  from  Old- 
town  whose  loss  would  have  been  more  universally  felt  and  de- 
plored than  little  Miss  Tina's.  In  the  first  place,  Oldtown  had 
come  into  the  way  of  regarding  her  as  a  sort  of  Child  of  the  Regi- 
ment, and  then  Tina  was  one  of  those  sociable,  acquaintance- 
making  bodies  that  have  visited  everybody,  penetrated  every- 
body's affairs,  and  given  a  friendly  lift  now  and  then  in  almost 
everybody's  troubles. 

"  Why,  lordy  massy ! "  said  Sam  Lawson,  "  I  don't  know 
nothin'  what  we  're  any  on  us  goin'  to  do  when  Tiny 's  gone. 
Why,  there  ain't  a  dog  goes  into  the  meetin'-house  but  wags  his 
tail  when  he  sees  her  a  comin'.  I  expect  she  knows  about  every 
yellow-bird's  nest  an'  blue  jay's  an'  bobolink's  an'  meadow- 
lark's  that  there 's  ben  round  here  these  five  years,  an'  how 
they 's  goin'  to  set  an'  hatch  without  her  's  best  known  to  'em- 
selves,  I  s'pose.  Lordy  massy!  that  child  can  sing  so  like  a 
skunk  blackbird  that  you  can't  tell  which  is  which.  Wai,  I  '11 
say  one  thing  for  her  ;  she  draws  the  fire  out  o'  Hepsy,  an'  she 's 
'bout  the  only  livin'  critter  that  can ;  but  some  nights  when  she  's 
ben  inter  our  house  a  play  in'  checkers  or  fox  an'  geese  with  the 
child'en,  she  'd  railly  git  Hepsy  slicked  down  so  that 't  was  kind 
o'  comfortable  bein'  with  her.  I'm  sorry  she's  goin',  for  my 
part,  an'  all  the  child'en  '11  be  sorry." 

As  for  Polly,  she  worked  night  and  day  on  Tina's  outfit,  and 
scolded  and  hectored  herself  for  certain  tears  that  now  and  then 
dropped  on  the  white  aprons  that  she  was  ironing.  On  the  night 
18 


410  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

before  Tina  was  to  depart,  Polly  came  into  her  room  and  in- 
sisted upon  endowing  her  with  her  string  of  gold  beads,  the  only 
relic  of  earthly  vanity  in  which  that  severe  female  had  ever  been 
known  to  indulge.  Tina  was  quite  melted,  and  fell  upon  her 
neck. 

"  Why,  Polly  !  No,  no  ;  you  dear  old  creature,  you,  you  've 
been  a  thousand  times  too  good  for  me,  and  1  've  nearly  plagued 
the  life  out  of  you,  and  you  sha'  n't  give  me  your  poor,  dear,  old 
gold  beads,  but  keep  them  yourself,  for  you  're  as  good  as  gold  any 
day,  and  so  it 's  a  great  deal  better  that  you  should  wear  them." 

"  0  Tina,  child,  you  don't  know  my  heart,"  said  Polly,  shaking 
her  head  solemnly;  "if  you  could  see  the  depths  of  depravity 
that  there  are  there ! " 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  Polly." 

"  Ah !  but,  you  see,  the  Lord  seeth  not  as  man  sees,  Tina." 

"  I  know  he  don't,"  said  Tina  ;  "  he  's  a  thousand  times  kinder, 
and  makes  a  thousand  more  excuses  for  us  than  we  ever  do  for 
ourselves  or  each  other.  You  know  the  Bible  says,  '  He  know- 
eth  our  frame,  he  remembereth  that  we  are  dust.' " 

u  0  Tina,  Tina,  you  always  was  a  wonderful  child  to  talk," 
said  Polly,  shaking  her  head  doubtfully ;  "  but  then  you  know 
the  heart  is  so  deceitful,  and  then  you  see  there  's  the  danger  that 
we  should  mistake  natural  emotions  for  grace." 

"  0, 1  dare  say  there  are  all  sorts  of  dangers,"  said  Tina  ;  "  of 
course  there  are.  I  know  I  'm  nothing  but  just  a  poor  little 
silly  bird ;  but  He  knows  it  too,  and  he  's  taken  care  of  ever 
so  many  such  little  silly  people  as  I  am,  so  that  1  'm  not  afraid. 
He  won't  let  me  deceive  myself.  You  know,  when  that  bird  got 
shut  in  the  house  the  other  day,  how  much  time  you  and  I  and 
Miss  Mehitable  all  spent  in  trying  to  keep  it  from  breaking  its 
foolish  head  against  the  glass,  and  flying  into  the  fire,  and  all  that, 
and  how  glad  we  were  when  we  got  it  safe  out  into  the  air.  I  'm 
sure  we  are  not  half  as  good  as  God  is,  and,  if  we  take  so  much 
care  about  a  poor  little  bird  that  we  did  n't  make  and  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with,  he  must  care  a  good  deal  more  about  us  when 
we  are  his  children.  And  God  is  all  the  Father  I  have  or  ever 
knew." 


WHAT   SHALL  WE  DO   WITH  TINA?  411 

This  certainly  looked  to  Polly  like  very  specious  reasoning, 
but,  after  all,  the  faithful  creature  groaned  in  spirit.  Might  not 
this  all  be  mere  natural  religion  and  not  the  supernatural  grace  ? 
So  she  said  trembling :  "  O  Tina,  did  you  always  feel  so  towards 
God  ?  wa'  n't  there  a  time  when  your  heart  rose  in  opposition  to 
him  ?  " 

"  O,  certainly,"  said  Tina,  "  when  Miss  Asphyxia  used  to  talk 
to  me  about  it,  I  thought  I  never  wanted  to  hear  of  him,  and  I 
never  said  my  prayers ;  but  as  soon  as  I  came  to  Aunty,  she  was 
so  loving  and  kind  that  I  began  to  see  what  God  must  be  like,  — 
because  I  know  he  is  kinder  than  she  can  be,  or  you,  or  anybody 
can  be.  That 's  so,  is  n't  it  ?  You  know  the  Bible  says  his  lov- 
ing-kindness is  infinite." 

The  thing  in  this  speech  which  gave  Polly  such  peculiar  satis- 
faction was  the  admission  that  there  had  been  a  definite  point  of 
time  in  which  the  feelings  of  her  little  friend  had  undergone  a 
distinct  change.  Henceforth  she  was  better  satisfied,  —  never 
reflecting  how  much  she  was  trusting  to  a  mere  state  of  mind 
in  the  child,  instead  of  resting  her  faith  on  the  Almighty  Friend 
who  so  evidently  had  held  her  in  charge  during  the  whole  of 
her  short  history. 

As  for  me,  the  eve  of  my  departure  was  to  me  one  of  triumph. 
When  I  had  seen  all  my  father's  Latin  books  fairly  stowed  away 
in  my  trunk,  with  the  very  simple  wardrobe  which  belonged  to 
Harry  and  me,  and  the  trunk  had  been  shut  and  locked  and 
corded,  and  we  were  to  start  at  sunrise  the  next  morning,  I  felt 
as  if  my  father's  unfulfilled  life-desire  was  at  last  going  to  be 
accomplished  in  me. 

It  was  a  bright,  clear,  starlight  night  in  June,  and  we  were 
warned  to  go  to  bed  early,  that  we  might  be  ready  in  season  the 
next  morning.  As  usual,  Harry  fell  fast  asleep,  and  I  was  too 
nervous  and  excited  to  close  my  eyes.  I  began  to  think  of  the 
old  phantasmagoria  of  my  childish  days,  which  now  so  seldom 
appeared  to  me.  I  felt  stealing  over  me  that  peculiar  thrill  and 
vibration  of  the  great  central  nerves  which  used  to  indicate  the 
approach  of  those  phenomena,  and,  looking  up,  I  saw  distinctly 
my  father,  exactly  as  I  used  to  see  him,  standing  between  the 


412  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

door  and  the  bed.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  entered  by  passing 
through  the  door,  but  there  he  was,  every  line  and  lineament 
of  his  face,  every  curl  of  his  hair,  exactly  as  I  remembered  it. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  on  mine  with  a  tender  human  radiance. 
There  was  something  soft  and  compassionate  about  the  look 
he  gave  me,  and  I  felt  it  vibrating  on  my  nerves  with  that 
peculiar  electric  thrill  of  which  I  have  spoken.  I  learned  by 
such  interviews  as  these  how  spirits  can  communicate  with  one 
another  without  human  language. 

The  appearance  of  my  father  was  vivid  and  real  even  to  the 
clothing  that  he  used  to  wear,  which  was  earthly  and  home- 
like, precisely  as  I  remembered  it.  Yet  I  felt  no  disposition  to 
address  him,  and  no  need  of  words.  Gradually  the  image  faded ; 
it  grew  thinner  and  fainter,  and  I  saw  the  door  through  it  as  if 
it  had  been  a  veil,  and  then  it  passed  away  entirely. 

What  are  these  apparitions  ?  I  know  that  this  will  be  read 
by  many  who  have  seen  them  quite  as  plainly  as  I  have,  who, 
like  me,  have  hushed  back  the  memory  of  them  into  the  most 
secret  and  silent  chamber  of  their  hearts. 

I  know,  with  regard  to  myself,  that  the  sight  of  my  father  was 
accompanied  by  such  a  vivid  conviction  of  the  reality  of  his 
presence,  such  an  assurance  radiated  from  his  serene  eyes  that 
he  had  at  last  found  the  secret  of  eternal  peace,  such  an  intense 
conviction  of  continued  watchful  affection  and  of  sympathy  in  the 
course  that  I  was  now  beginning,  that  I  could  not  have  doubted 
if  I  would.  And  when  we  remember  that,  from  the  beginning  of 
the  world,  some  such  possible  communication  between  departed 
love  and  the  beloved  on  earth  has  been  among  the  most  cher- 
ished legends  of  humanity,  why  must  we  always  meet  such 
phenomena  with  a  resolute  determination  to  account  for  them 
by  every  or  any  supposition  but  that  which  the  human  heart 
most  craves  ?  Is  not  the  great  mystery  of  life  and  death  made 
more  cruel  and  inexorable  by  this  rigid  incredulity  ?  One  would 
fancy,  to  hear  some  moderns  talk,  that  there  was  no  possibility 
that  the  departed,  even  when  most  tender  and  most  earnest, 
could,  if  they  would,  recall  themselves  to  their  earthly  friends. 

For  my  part,  it  was  through  some  such  experiences  as  these 


WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO  WITH  TINA?  413 

that  I  learned  that  there  are  truths  of  the  spiritual  life  which  are 
intuitive,  and  above  logic,  which  a  man  must  believe  because  he 
cannot  help  it, — just  as  he  believes  the  facts  of  his  daily  ex- 
perience in  the  world  of  matter,  though  most  ingenious  and  un- 
answerable treatises  have  been  written  to  show  that  there  is  no 
proof  of  its  existence. 


414  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

CHAPTER    XXXII. 

THE    JOURNEY    TO     CLOTTDLAND. 

THE  next  morning  Aunt  Lois  rapped  at  our  door,  when 
there  was  the  very  faintest  red  streak  in  the  east,  and 
the  birds  were  just  in  the  midst  of  that  vociferous  singing  which 
nobody  knows  anything  about  who  is  n't  awake  at  this  precise 
hour.  We  were  forward  enough  to  be  up  and  dressed,  and,  be- 
fore our  breakfast  was  through,  Uncle  Jacob  came  to  the  door. 

The  agricultural  population  of  Massachusetts,  at  this  time, 
were  a  far  more  steady  set  as  regards  locomotion  than  they  are 
in  these  days  of  railroads.  At  this  time,  a  journey  from  Boston 
to  New  York  took  a  fortnight,  —  a  longer  time  than  it  now  takes 
to  go  to  Europe,  —  and  my  Uncle  Jacob  had  never  been  even 
to  Boston.  In  fact,  the  seven-mile  tavern  in  the  neighborhood 
had  been  the  extent  of  his  wanderings,  and  it  was  evident  that 
he  regarded  the  two  days'  journey  as  quite* a  solemn  event 
in  his  life.  He  had  given  a  fortnight's  thought  to  it ;  he  had 
arranged  all  his  worldly  affairs,  and  given  charges  and  messages 
to  his  wife  and  children,  in  case,  as  he  said,  "  anything  should 
happen  to  him."  And  he  informed  Aunt  Lois  that  he  had  been 
awake  the  biggest  part  of  the  night  thinking  it  over.  But  when 
he  had  taken  Tina  and  her  little  trunk  on  board,  and  we  had  fin- 
ished all  our  hand-shakings,  and  Polly  had  told  us  over  for  the 
fourth  or  fifth  time  exactly  where  she  had  put  the  cold  chicken 
and  the  biscuits  and  the  cakes  and  pie,  and  Miss  Mehitable  had 
cautioned  Tina  again  and  again  to  put  on  her  shawl  in  case  a 
shower  should  come  up,  and  my  grandmother  and  Aunt  Lois  had 
put  in  their  share  of  parting  admonitions,  we  at  last  trolled  off  as 
cheery  and  merry  a  set  of  youngsters  as  the  sun  ever  looked 
upon  in  a  dewy  June  morning. 

Our  road  lay  first  along  the  beautiful  brown  river,  with  its 
sweeping  bends,  and  its  prattling  curves  of  water  dashing  and 


THE  JOUKXKY  TO  CLOUDLAXD.          415 

chattering  over  mossy  rocks.  Towards  noon  we  began  to  find 
ourselves  winding  up  and  up  amid  hemlock  forests,  whose  solemn 
shadows  were  all  radiant  and  aglow  with  clouds  of  blossoming 
laurel.  We  had  long  hills  to  wind  up,  when  we  got  out  and 
walked,  and  gathered  flowers^  and  scampered,  and  chased  the 
brook  up  stream  from  one  little  dashing  waterfall  to  another, 
and  then,  suddenly  darting  out  upon  the  road  again,  we  would 
meet  the  wagon  at  the  top  of  the  hill. 

Can  there  be  anything  on  earth  so  beautiful  as  these  mountain 
rides  in  New  England  ?  At  any  rate  we  were  full  in  the  faith 
that  there  could  not.  When  we  were  riding  in  the  wagon, 
Tina's  powers  of  entertainment  were  brought  into  full  play. 
The  great  success  of  the  morning  was  her  exact  imitation  of  a 
squirrel  eating  a  nut,  which  she  was  requested  to  perform  many 
times,  and  which  she  did,  with  variations,  until  at  last  Uncle 
Jacob  remarked,  with  a  grin,  that  "if  be  should  meet  her  and  a 
squirrel  sitting  on  a  stone  fence  together,  he  believed  he  should 
n't  know  which  was  which." 

Besides  this,  we  acted  various  impromptu  plays,  assuming 
characters  and  supporting  them  as  we  had  been  accustomed  to 
do  in  our  theatrical  rehearsals  in  the  garret,  till  Uncle  Jacob 
declared  that  he  never  did  see  such  a  musical  set  as  we  were. 
About  nightfall  we  came  to  Uncle  Sim  Geary's  tavern,  which 
had  been  fixed  upon  for  our  stopping-place.  This  was  neither 
more  nor  less  than  a  mountain  farm-house,  where  the  few  travel- 
lers who  ever  passed  that  way  could  find  accommodation. 

Uncle  Jacob,  after  seeing  to  his  horses,  and  partaking  of  a 
plentiful  supper,  went  immediately  to  bed,  as  was  his  innocent 
custom  every  evening,  as  speedily  as  possible.  To  bed,  but  not 
to  sleep,  for  when,  an  hour  or  two  afterward,  I  had  occasion  to 
go  into  his  room,  I  found  him  lying  on  his  bed  with  his  clothes 
on,  his  shoes  merely  slipped  off,  and  his  hat  held  securely  over 
the  pit  of  his  stomach. 

"  Why,  Uncle  Jacob,"  said  I,  "  are  n't  you  going  to  bed  ?  " 

"Well,  I  guess  I  '11  just  lie  down  as  I  be;  no  knowin'  what 
may  happen  when  you  're  travelling.  It 's  a  very  nice  house,  and 
a  very  respectable  family,  but  it 's  best  always  to  be  prepared  for 


416  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

anything  that  may  happen.  So  I  think  you  children  had  better 
all  go  to  bed  and  keep  quiet." 

What  roars  of  laughter  there  were  among  us  when  I  described 
this  scene  and  communicated  the  message  of  Uncle  Jacob !  It 
seemed  as  if  Tina  could  not  be  got  to  sleep  that  night,  and  we 
could  hear  her  giggling,  through  the  board  partition  that  sepa- 
rated our  room  from  hers,  every  hour  of  the  night. 

Happy  are  the  days  when  one  can  go  to  sleep  and  wake  up 
laughing.  The  next  morning,  however,  Uncle  Jacob  reaped  the 
reward  of  his  vigilance  by  finding  himself  ready  dressed  at  six 
o'clock,  when  I  came  in  and  found  him  sleeping  profoundly. 
The  fact  was,  that,  having  kept  awake  till  near  morning,  he  was 
sounder  asleep  at  this  point  of  time  than  any  of  us,  and  was 
snoring  away  like  a  grist-mill.  He  remarked  that  he  should  n't 
wonder  if  he  had  dropped  asleep,  and  added,  in  a  solemn  tone, 
"  We  've  got  through  the  night  wonderfully,  all  things  consid- 
ered." 

The  next  day's  ride  was  the  same  thing  over,  only  the  hills 
were  longer ;  and  by  and  by  we  came  into  great  vistas  of  moun- 
tains, whose  cloudy  purple  heads  seemed  to  stretch  and  veer 
around  our  path  like  the  phantasmagoria  of  a  dream.  Sometimes 
the  road  seemed  to  come  straight  up  against  an  impenetrable 
wall,  and  we  would  wonder  what  we  were  to  do  with  it ;  but  lo ! 
as  we  approached,  the  old  mountain  seemed  gracefully  to  slide 
aside,  and  open  to  us  a  passage  round  it.  Tina  found  ever  so 
many  moralities  and  poetical  images  in  these  mountains.  It 
was  like  life,  she  said.  Your  way  would  seem  all  shut  up  be- 
fore you,  but,  if  you  only  had  faith  and  went  on,  the  mountains 
would  move  aside  for  you  and  let  you  through. 

Towards  night  we  began  to  pull  in  earnest  up  a  series  of  as- 
cents toward  the  little  village  of  Cloudland.  Hill  after  hill,  hill 
after  hill,  how  long  they  seemed  !  but  how  beautiful  it  was  when 
the  sun  went  down  over  the  distant  valleys !  and  there  was  such 
a  pomp  and  glory  of  golden  clouds  and  rosy  vapors  wreathing 
around  the  old  mountain-tops  as  one  must  go  to  Cloudland  to 
know  anything  about. 

At  last  we  came  to  a  little  terrace  of  land,  where  were  a  white 


THE  JOUENEY  TO  CLOUDLAND.  '         417 

meeting-house,  and  a  store,  and  two  or  three  houses,  and  to  the  door 
of  one  of  these  our  wagon  drove.  There  stood  Mr.  Jonathan 
Rossiter  and  the  minister  and  Esther.  You  do  not  know  Esther, 
do  you  ?  neither  at  this  minute  did  we.  We  saw  a  tall,  straight, 
graceful  girl,  who  looked  at  us  out  of  a  pair  of  keen,  clear,  hazel 
eyes,  with  a  sort  of  inquisitive  yet  not  unkindly  glance,  but  as  if 
she  meant  to  make  up  her  mind  about  us  ;  and  when  she  looked 
at  Tina  I  could  see  that  her  min,d  was  made  up  in  a  moment. 

LETTER   FROM   TINA   TO   MISS   MEH1TABLE. 

"  CLOUDLAND,  June  6. 

"  Here  we  are,  dear  Aunty,  up  in  the  sides,  in  the  most  beau- 
tiful place  that  you  can  possibly  conceive  of.  We  had  such  a 
good  time  coming!  you've  no  idea  of  the  fun  we  had.  You 
know  I  am  going  to  be  very  sober,  but  I  did  n't  think  it  was 
necessary  to  begin  while  we  were  travelling,  and  we  kept  Uncle 
Jacob  laughing  so  that  I  really  thihk  he  must  have  been  tired. 

"  Do  you  know,  Aunty,  I  have  got  so  that  I  can  look  exactly 
like  a  squirrel  ?  We  saw  ever  so  many  on  the  way,  and  I  got  a 
great  many  new  hints  on  the  subject,  and  now  I  can  do  squirrel 
in  four  or  five  different  attitudes,  and  the  boys  almost  killed 
themselves  laughing. 

"  Harry  is  an  old  sly-boots.  Do  you  know,  he  is  just  as  much 
of  a  mimic  as  I  am,  for  all  he  looks  so  sober ;  but  when  we  get 
him  a  going  he  is  perfectly  killing.  He  and  I  and  Horace  acted 
all  sorts  of  plays  on  the  way.  We  agreed  with  each  other  that 
we'd  give  a  set  of  Oldtown  representations,  and  see  if  Uncle 
Jacob  would  know  who  they  were,  and  so  Harry  was  Sam  Law- 
son  and  I  was  Hepsy,  and  I  made  an  unexceptionable  baby  out 
of  our  two  shawls,  and  Horace  was  Uncle  Fliakim  come  in  to 
give  us  moral  exhortations.  I  do  wish  you  could  hear  how  we 
did  it.  Uncle  Jacob  is  n't  the  brightest  of  all  mortals,  and  not 
very  easily  roused,  but  we  made  him  laugh  till  he  said  his  sides 
were  sore ;  and  to  pay  for  it  he  made  us  laugh  when  we  got  to 
the  tavern  where  we  stopped  all  night.  Do  you  believe,  Aunty, 
Uncle  Jacob  really  was  frightened,  or  care-worn,  or  something, 

18*  AA 


418  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

so  that  he  hardly  slept  any  all  night  ?  It  was  just  the  quietest 
place  that  ever  you  saw,  and  there  was  a  good  motherly  woman, 
who  got  ns  the  nicest  kind  of  supper,  and  a  peaceable,  slow,  dull 
old  man,  just  like  Uncle  Jacob.  There  wasn't  the  least  thing 
that  looked  as  if  we  had  fallen  into  a  cave  of  banditti,  or  a  castle 
in  the  Apennines,  such  as  Mrs.  Radcliffe  tells  about  in  the  Mys- 
teries of  Udolpho;  but,  for  all  that,  Uncle  Jacob's  mind  was  so 
oppressed  with  care  that  he  wegt  to  bed  with  all  his  clothes  on, 
and  lay  broad  awake  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  all  night.  I 
did  n't  think  before  that  Uncle  Jacob  had  such  a  brilliant  imagi- 
nation. Poor  man !  I  should  have  thought  he  would  have  lain 
down  and  slept  as  peaceably  as  one  of  his  own  oxen. 

"  We  got  up  into  Cloudland  about  half  past  six  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  the  second  day ;  and  such  a  sunset !  I  thought  of  a 
good  subject  for  a  little  poem,  and  wrote  two  or  three  verses, 
which  I  '11  send  you  some  time ;  but  I  must  tell  you  now  about 
the  people  here. 

"  I  don't  doubt  I  shall  become  very  good,  for  just  think  what 
a  place  I  am  in,  —  living  at  the  minister's  !  and  then  I  room  with 
Esther !  You  ought  to  see  Esther.  She 's  a  beautiful  girl ;  she 's 
tall,  and  straight,  and  graceful,  with  smooth  black  hair,  and  pierc- 
ing dark  eyes  that  look  as  if  they  could  read  your  very  soul. 
Her  face  has  the  features  of  a  statue,  at  least  such  as  I  think 
some  of  the  beautiful  statues  that  I  've  read  about  might  have  ; 
and  what  makes  it  more  statuesque  is,  that,  she 's  so  very  pale ; 
she  is  perfectly  healthy,  but  there  does  n't  seem  to  be  any  red 
blood  in  her  cheeks ;  and,  dear  Aunty,  she  is  alarmingly  good. 
She  knows  so  much,  and  does  so  much,  that  it  is  really  discour- 
aging to  me  to  think  of  it.  Why,  do  you  know,  she  has  read 
through  Virgil,  and  is  reading  a  Greek  tragedy  now  with  Mr. 
Rossiter ;  and  she  teaches  a  class  in  mathematics  in  school,  be- 
sides being  her  father's  only  housekeeper,  and  taking  care  of  her 
younger  brothers. 

"  I  should  be  frightened  to  death  at  so  much  goodness,  if  it 
were  not  that  she  seems  to  have  taken  the  greatest  possible  fancy 
to  me.  As  I  told  you,  we  room  together ;  and  such  a  nice  room 
as  it  is !  everything  is  just  like  wax ;  and  she  gave  me  half  of 


THE  JOURNEY  TO  CLOUDLAND.          419 

everything,  —  half  the  drawers  and  half  the  closet,  and  put  all 
my  things  so  nicely  in  their  places,  and  then  in  the  morning  she 
gets  up  at  unheard-of  hours,  and  she  was  beginning  to  pet  me 
and  tell  me  that  I  need  n't  get  up.  Now  you  know,  Aunty,  that 's 
just  the  way  people  are  always  doing  with  me,  and  the  way  poor 
dear  old  Polly  would  spoil  me ;  but  I  told  Esther  all  about  my 
new  resolutions  and  exactly  how  good  I  intended  to  be,  and  that 
I  thought  I  could  n't  do  better  than  to  do  everything  that  she 
did,  and  so  when  she  gets  up  I  get  up  ;  and  really,  Aunty, 
you  've  no  idea  what  a  sight  the  sunrise  is  here  in  the  moun- 
tains ;  it  really  is  worth  getting  up  for. 

"We  have  breakfast  at  six  o'clock,  and  then  there  are  about 
three  hours  before  school,  and  I  help  Esther  wash  up  the  break- 
fast things,  and  we  make  our  bed  and  sweep  our  room,  and  put 
everything  up  nice,  and  then  I  have  ever  so  long  to  study,  while 
Esther  is  seeing  to  all  her  family  cares  and  directing  black 
Dinah  about  the  dinner,  and  settling  any  little  cases  that  may 
arise  among  her  three  younger  brothers.  They  are  great,  strong, 
nice  boys,  with  bright  red  cheeks,  and  a  good  capacity  for  mak- 
ing a  noise,  but  she  manages  them  nicely.  Dear  Aunty,  I  hope 
some  of  her  virtues  will  rub  off  on  to  me  by  contact ;  don't  you  ? 

"  I  don't  think  your  brother  likes  me  much.  He  hardly  no- 
ticed me  at  all  when  I  was  first  presented  to  him,  and  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  that  he  had  ever  seen  me.  I  tried  to  talk  to  him, 
but  he  cut  me  quite  short,  and  turned  round  and  went  to  talking 
to  Mr.  Avery,  the  minister,  you  know.  I  think  that  these  peo- 
ple that  know  so  much  might  be  civil  to  us  little  folks,  but  then  I 
dare  say  it's  all  right  enough;  but  sometimes  it  does  seem  as  if 
he  wanted  to  snub  me.  Well,  perhaps  it 's  good  for  me  to  be 
snubbed:  I  have  such  good  times  generally  that  I  ought  to  have 
something  that  is  n't  quite  so  pleasant. 

"  Life  is  to  me  such  a  beautifu^  story !  and  every  morning  when 
I  open  my  eyes  and  see  things  looking  so  charming  as  they  do 
here,  I  thank  God  that  I  am  alive. 

"  Mr.  Rossiter  has  been  examining  the  boys  in  their  studies. 
He  is  n't  a  man  that  ever  praises  anybody,  I  suppose,  but  I  can 
see  that  he  is  pretty  well  pleased  with  them.  We  have  a  lady 


420  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

principal,  Miss  Titcomb.  She  is  about  forty  years  old,  I  should 
think,  and  very  pleasant  and  affable.  I  shall  tell  you  more  about 
these  things  by  and  by. 

"  Give  my  love  to  dear  old  Polly,  and  to  grandma  and  Aunt 
Lois,  and  all  the  nice  folks  in  Oldtown. 

"  Dear  Aunty,  sometimes  I  used  to  think  that  you  were  de- 
pressed, and  had  troubles  that  you  did  not  tell  me ;  and  some- 
thing you  said  once  about  your  life  being  so  wintry  made  me 
quite  sad.  Do  let  me  be  your  little  Spring,  and  think  always 
how  dearly  I  love  you,  and  how  good  I  am  going  to  try  to  be  for 
your  sake. 

"  Your  own  affectionate  little 

«  TINA." 


SCHOOL-LIFE  IN  CLOUDLAND.  421 

CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

SCHOOL-LIFE    IN     CLOUDLAND. 

THE  academy  in  Cloudland  was  one  of  those  pure  wells  from 
which  the  hidden  strength  of  New  England  is  drawn,  as 
her  broad  rivers  are  made  from  hidden  mountain  brooks.  The 
first  object  of  every  colony  in  New  England,  after  building  the 
church,  was  to  establish  a  school-house ;  and  a  class  of  the  most 
superior  men  of  New  England,  in  those  days  of  simple  living, 
were  perfectly  satisfied  to  make  it  the  business  of  their  lives  to 
teach  in  the  small  country  academies  with  which  the  nooks  and 
hollows  of  New  England  were  filled. 

Could  materials  be  got  as  profuse  as  Boswell's  Life  of  John- 
son to  illustrate  the  daily  life  and  table-talk  of  some  of  the 
academy  schoolmasters  of  this  period,  it  would  be  an  acquisition 
for  the  world. 

For  that  simple,  pastoral  germ-state  of  society  is  a  thing  for- 
ever gone.  Never  again  shall  we  see  that  union  of  perfect 
repose  in  regard  to  outward  surroundings  and  outward  life 
with  that  intense  activity  of  the  inward  and  intellectual  world, 
that  made  New  England,  at  this  time,  the  vigorous,  germi- 
nating seed-bed  for  all  that  has  since  been  developed  of  politics, 
laws,  letters,  and  theology,  through  New  England  to  America,  and 
through  America  to  the  world.  The  hurry  of  railroads,  and  the 
rush  and  roar  of  business  that  now  fill  it,  would  have  prevented 
that  germinating  process.  It  was  necessary  that  there  should  be 
a  period  like  that  we  describe,  when  villages  were  each  a  separate 
little  democracy,  shut  off  by  rough  roads  and  forests  from  the  rest 
of  the  world,  organized  round  the  church  and  school  as  a  common 
centre,  and  formed  by  the  minister  and  the  schoolmaster. 

The  academy  of  Cloudland  had  become  celebrated  in  the 
neighborhood  for  the  skill  and  ability  with  which  it  was  con- 
ducted, and  pupils  had  been  drawn,  even  from  as  far  as  Boston, 


422  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

to  come  and  sojourn  in  our  mountain  town  to  partake  of 
these  advantages.  They  were  mostly  young  girls,  who  were 
boarded  at  very  simple  rates  in  the  various  families  of  the 
place.  In  all,  the  pupils  of  the  academy  numbered  about  a 
hundred,  equally  divided  between  the  two  sexes.  There  was  a 
class  of  about  fifteen  young  men  who  were  preparing  for  college, 
and  a  greater  number  of  boys  who  were  studying  with  the  same 
ultimate  hope. 

As  a  general  rule,  the  country  academies  of  Massachusetts 
have  been  equally  open  to  both  sexes.  Andover  and  Exeter, 
so  far  as  I  know,  formed  the  only  exceptions  to  this  rule,  being 
by  their  charters  confined  rigorously  to  the  use  of  the  dominant 
sex.  But,  in  the  generality  of  country  academies,  the  girls  and 
boys  studied  side  by  side,  Avithout  any  other  restriction  as  to  the 
character  of  their  studies  than  personal  preference.  As  a  gen- 
eral thing,  the  classics  and  the  higher  mathematics  were  more 
pursued  by  the  boys  than  the  girls.  But  if  there  were  a  daughter 
of  Eve  who  wished,  like  her  mother,  to  put  forth  her  hand  to  the 
tree  of  knowledge,  there  was  neither  cherubim  nor  flaming  sword 
to  drive  her  away. 

Mr.  Rossiter  was  always  stimulating  the  female  part  of  his 
subjects  to  such  undertakings,  and  the  consequence  was  that  in 
his  school  an  unusual  number  devoted  themselves  to  these  pur- 
suits, and  the  leading  scholar  in  Greek  and  the  higher  mathe- 
matics was  our  new  acquaintance,  Esther  Avery. 

The  female  principal,  Miss  Titcomb,  was  a  thorough-bred,  old- 
fashioned  lady,  whose  views  of  education  were  formed  by  Miss 
Hannah  More,  and  whose  style,  like  Miss  Hannah  More's, 
was  profoundly  Johnsonian.  This  lady  had  composed  a  set  of 
rules  for  the  conduct  of  the  school,  in  the  most  ornate  and 
resounding  periods.  The  rules,  briefly  epitomized,  required  of  us 
only  absolute  moral  perfection,  but  they  were  run  into  details 
which  caused  the  reading  of  them  to  take  up  about  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  every  Saturday  morning.  I  would  that  I  could  remem- 
ber some  of  the  sentences.  It  was  required  of  us  all,  for  one 
thing,  that  we  should  be  perfectly  polite.  "  Persons  truly  polite," 
it  was  added,  "  invariably  treat  their  superiors  with  reverence, 


SCHOOL-LIFE  IN  CLOUDLAND.  423 

their  equals  with  exact  consideration,  and  their  inferiors  with 
condescension."  Again,  under  the  head  of  manners,  we  were 
warned,  "  not  to  consider  romping  as  indicative  of  sprightliness, 
or  loud  laughter  a  mark  of  wit." 

The  scene  every  Saturday  morning,  when  these  rules  were 
read  to  a  set  of  young  people  on  whom  the  mountain  air  acted 
like  champagne,  and  among  whom  both  romping  and  loud 
laughter  were  fearfully  prevalent,  was  sufficiently  edifying. 

There  was  also  a  system  of  marks,  quite  complicated,  by  which 
our  departure  from  any  of  these  virtuous  proprieties  was  indi- 
cated. After  a  while,  however,  the  reciting  of  these  rules,  like 
the  reading  of  the  Ten  Commandments  in  churches,  and  a  great 
deal  of  other  good  substantial  reading,  came  to  be  looked  upon 
only  as  a  Saturday  morning  decorum,  and  the  Johnsonian 
periods,  which  we  all  knew  by  heart,  were  principally  useful  in 
pointing  a  joke.  Nevertheless,  we  were  not  a  badly  behaved  set 
of  young  people. 

Miss  Titcomb  exercised  a  general  supervision  over  the  man- 
ners, morals,  and  health  of  the  young  ladies  connected  with  the 
institution,  taught  history  and  geography,  and  also  gave  especial 
attention  to  female  accomplishments.  These,  so  far  as  I  could 
observe,  consisted  largely  in  embroidering  mourning  pieces,  with 
a  family  monument  in  the  centre,  a  green  ground  worked  in 
chenille  and  floss  silk,  with  an  exuberant  willow-tree,  and  a 
number  of  weeping  mourners,  whose  faces  were  often  concealed 
by  flowing  pocket-handkerchiefs. 

Pastoral  pieces  were  also  in  great  favor,  representing  fair 
young  shepherdesses  sitting  on  green  chenille  banks,  with  crooks 
in  their  hands,  and  tending  some  animals  of  an  uncertain  de- 
scription, which  were  to  be  received  by  faith  as  sheep.  The 
sweet,  confiding  innocence  which  regarded  the  making  of  objects 
like  these  as  more  suited  to  the  tender  female  character  than 
the  pursuit  of  Latin  and  mathematics,  was  characteristic  of  the 
ancient  regime.  Did  not  Penelope  embroider,  and  all  sorts  of 
princesses,  ancient  and  modern  ?  and  was  not  embroidery  a  true 
feminine  grace?  Even  Esther  Avery,  though  she  found  no 
time  for  works  of  this  kind,  looked  upon  it  with  respect,  as 


424  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

an  accomplishment  for  which  nature  unfortunately  had  not  given 
her  a  taste. 

Mr.  Rossiter,  although  he  of  course  would  not  infringe  on  the 
kingdom  of  his  female  associate,  treated  these  accomplishments 
with  a  scarce  concealed  contempt.  It  was,  perhaps,  the  frosty 
atmosphere  of  scepticism  which  he  breathed  about  him  touching 
those  works  of  art,  that  prevented  his  favorite  scholars  from  going 
far  in  the  direction  of  such  accomplishments.  The  fact  is,  that 
Mr.  Rossiter,  during  the  sailor  period  of  his  life,  had  been  to 
the  Mediterranean,  had  seen  the  churches  of  Spain  and  Italy, 
and  knew  what  Murillos  and  Titians  were  like,  which  may 
account  somewhat  for  the  glances  of  civil  amusement  which  he 
sometimes  cast  over  into  Miss  Titcomb's  department,  when  the 
adjuncts  and  accessories  of  a  family  tombstone  were  being  eagerly 
discussed. 

Mr.  Jonathan  Rossiter  held  us  all  by  the  sheer  force  of  his 
personal  character  and  will,  just  as  the  ancient  mariner  held  the 
wedding  guest  with  his  glittering  eye.  He  so  utterly  scorned 
and  contemned  a  lazy  scholar,  that  trifling  and  inefficiency  in 
study  were  scorched  and  withered  by  the  very  breath  of  his  nos- 
trils. We  were  so  awfully  afraid  of  his  opinion,  we  so  hoped  for 
his  good  word  and  so  dreaded  his  contempt,  and  we  so  verily  be- 
lieved that  no  such  man  ever  walked  this  earth,  that  he  had 
only  to  shake  his  ambrosial  locks  and  give  the  nod,  to  settle  us 
all  as  to  any  matter  whatever. 

In  an  age  when  in  England  schools  were  managed  by  the 
grossest  and  most  brutal  exercise  of  corporal  punishment,  the 
schoolmasters  of  New  England,  to  a  great  extent,  had  entirely 
dropped  all  resort  to  such  barbarous  measures,  and  carried  on 
their  schools  as  republics,  by  the  sheer  force  of  moral  and  intel- 
lectual influences.  Mr.  Jonathan  Rossiter  would  have  been 
ashamed  of  himself  at  even  the  suggestion  of  caning  a  boy,  — 
as  if  he  were  incapable  of  any  higher  style  of  government. 
And  yet  never  was  a  man  more  feared  and  his  will  had  in 
more  awful  regard.  Mr.  Rossiter  was  sparing  of  praise,  but  his 
praise  bore  a  value  in  proportion  to  its  scarcity.  It  was  like 
diamonds  and  rubies,  —  few  could  have  it,  but  the  whole  of  his 
little  commonwealth  were  working  for  it. 


SCHOOL-LIFE  IN  CLOUDLAND.  425 

He  scorned  all  conventional  rules  in  teaching,  and  he  would 
not  tolerate  a  mechanical  lesson,  and  took  delight  in  puzzling 
his  pupils  and  breaking  up  all  routine  business  by  startling  and 
unexpected  questions  and  assertions.  He  compelled  every  one 
to  think,  and  to  think  for  himself.  "Your  heads  may  not  be 
the  best  in  the  world,"  was  one  of  his  sharp,  off-hand  sayings, 
"  but  they  are  the  best  God  has  given  you,  and  you  must  use 
them  for  yourselves." 

To  tell  the  truth,  he  used  his  teaching  somewhat  as  a  mental 
gratification  for  himself.  If  there  was  a  subject  he  wanted  to  in- 
vestigate, or  an  old  Greek  or  Latin  author  that  he  wanted  to  dig 
out,  he  would  put  a  class  on  it,  without  the  least  regard  to 
whether  it  was  in  the  course  of  college  preparation  or  not,  and 
if  a  word  was  said  by  any  poor  mechanical  body,  he  would  blast 
out  upon  him  with  a  sort  of  despotic  scorn. 

"  Learn  to  read  Greek  perfectly,"  he  said,  "  and  it 's  no  matter 
what  you  read";  or,  "Learn  to  use  your  own  heads,  and  you 
can  learn  anything." 

There  was  little  idling  and  no  shirking  in  his  school,  but  a 
slow,  dull,  industrious  fellow,  if  he  showed  a  disposition  to  work 
steadily,  got  more  notice  from  him  than  even  a  bright  one. 

Mr.  Eossiter  kept  house  by  himself  in  a  small  cottage  adjoin- 
ing that  of  the  minister.  His  housekeeper,  Miss  Minerva  Ran- 
dall, generally  known  to  the  village  as  "  Miss  Nervy  Randall," 
was  one  of  those  preternaturally  well-informed  old  mermaids 
who,  so  far  as  I  know,  are  a  peculiar  product  of  the  State  of 
Maine.  Study  and  work  had  been  the  two  passions  of  her  life, 
and  in  neither  could  she  be  excelled  by  man  or  woman.  Single- 
handed,  and  without  a  servant,  she  performed  all  the  labors  of 
Mr.  Jonathan  Rossiter's  little  establishment.  She  washed  for 
him,  ironed  for  him,  plaited  his  ruffled  shirts  in  neatest  folds, 
brushed  his  clothes,  cooked  his  food,  occasionally  hoed  in  the 
garden,  trained  flowers  around  the  house,  and  found,  also,  time 
to  read  Greek  and  Latin  authors,  and  to  work  out  problems  in 
mathematics  and  surveying  and  navigation,  and  to  take  charge 
of  boys  in  reading  Virgil. 

Miss  Minerva  Randall  was  one  of  those  female  persons  who 


426  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

are  of  Sojourner  Truth's  opinion,  —  that  if  women  want  any 
rights  they  had  better  take  them,  and  say  nothing-  about  it.  Her 
sex  had  never  occurred  to  her  as  a  reason  for  doing  or  not  do- 
ing anything  which  her  hand  found  to  do.  In  the  earlier  part 
of  her  life,  for  the  mere  love  of  roving  and  improving  her  mind 
by  seeing  foreign  countries,  she  had  gone  on  a  Mediterranean 
voyage  with  her  brother  Zachariah  Randall,  who  was  wont  to 
say  of  her  that  she  was  a  better  mate  than  any  man  he  could 
find.  And  true  efiough,  when  he  was  confined  to  his  berth  with 
a  fever,  Miss  Minerva  not  only  nursed  him,  but  navigated  the  ship 
home  in  the  most  matter  of-fact  way  in  the  world.  She  had  no 
fol-de-rol  about  woman's  rights,  but  she  was  always  wide-awake 
to  perceive  when  a  thing  was  to  be  done,  and  to  do  it.  Nor 
did  she  ever  after  in  her  life  talk  of  this  exploit  as  a  thing  to  be 
boasted  of,  seeming  to  regard  it  as  a  matter  too  simple,  and 
entirely  in  the  natural  course  of  things,  to  be  mentioned.  Miss 
Minerva,  however,  had  not  enough  of  the  external  illusive  charms 
of  her  sex,  to  suggest  to  a  casual  spectator  any  doubt  on  that 
score  of  the  propriety  of  her  doing  or  not  doing  anything. 
Although  she  had  not  precisely  the  air  of  a  man,  she  had  very 
little  of  what  usually  suggests  the  associations  of  femininity. 
There  was  a  sort  of  fishy  quaintness  about  her  that  awakened 
grim  ideas  of  some  unknown  ocean  product,  —  a  wild  and  with- 
ered appearance,  like  a  wind-blown  juniper  on  a  sea  promon- 
tory, —  unsightly  and  stunted,  yet  not,  after  all,  commonplace  or 
vulgar.  She  was  short,  square,  and  broad,  and  the  circumference 
of  her  waist  was  if  anything  greater  where  that  of  other  females 
decreases.  "What  the  color  of  her  hair  might  have  been  in  days 
of  youthful  bloom  was  not  apparent;  but  she  had,  when  we 
knew  her,  thin  tresses  of  a  pepper-and-salt  mixture  of  tint, 
combed  tightly,  and  twisted  in  a  very  small  nut  on  the  back  of 
her  head,  and  fastened  with  a  reddish-yellowish  horn  comb.  Her 
small  black  eyes  were  overhung  by  a  grizzled  thicket  of  the 
same  mixed  color  as  her  hair.  For  the  graces  of  the  toilet,  Miss 
Nervy  had  no  particular  esteem.  Her  clothing  and  her  person, 
as  well  as  her  housekeeping  and  belongings,  were  of  a  scrupulous 
and  wholesome  neatness  ;  but  the  idea  of  any  other  beauty  than 


SCHOOL-LIFE   IN   CLOUDLAND.  '    427 

that  of  utility  had  never  suggested  itself  to  her  mind.  She  wore 
always  a  stuff  petticoat  of  her  own  spinning,  with  a  striped  linen 
short  gown,  and  probably  in  all  her  life  never  expended  twenty 
dollars  a  year  for  clothing ;  and  yet  Miss  Nervy  was  about  the 
happiest  female  person  whose  acquaintance  it  has  ever  been  my 
fortune  to  make.  She  had  just  as  much  as  she  wanted  of  exact- 
ly the  two  things  she  liked  best  in  the  world,  —  books  and  work, 
and  when  her  work  was  done,  there  were  the  books,  and  lifa 
could  give  no  more.  Miss  Nervy  had  no  sentiment,  —  not  a 
particle  of  romance,  —  she  was  the  most  perfectly  contented 
mortal  that  could  possibly  be  imagined.  As  to  station  and  posi- 
tion, she  was  as  well  known  and  highly  respected  in  Cloudland 
as  the  schoolmaster  himself:  she  was  one  of  the  fixed  facts  of  the 
town,  as  much  as  the  meeting-house.  Days  came  and  went,  and 
spring  flowers  and  autumn  leaves  succeeded  each  other,  and  boys 
and  girls,  like  the  spring  flowers  and  autumn  leaves,  came  and 
went  in  Cloudland  Academy,  but  there  was  always  Miss  Nervy 
Randall,  not  a  bit  older,  not  a  bit  changed,  doing  her  spin- 
ning and  her  herb-drying,  working  over  her  butter  and  plaiting 
Mr.  Jonathan's  ruffled  shirts  and  teaching  her  Virgil  class.  What 
gave  a  piquancy  to  Miss  Nervy's  discourse  was,  that  she  always 
clung  persistently  to  the  racy  Yankee  dialect  of  her  childhood, 
and  when  she  was  discoursing  of  Latin  and  the  classics  the 
idioms  made  a  droll  mixture.  She  was  the  most  invariably  good- 
nutured  of  mortals,  and  helpful  to  the  last  degree  ;  and  she  would 
always  stop  her  kitchen  work,  take  her  hands  out  of  the  bread, 
or  turn  away  from  her  yeast  in  a  critical  moment,  to  show  a 
puzzled  boy  the  way  through  a  hard  Latin  sentence. 

"•  Why,  don't  you  know  what  that  'ere  is  ? "  she  would  say. 
"  That  'ere  is  part  of  the  gerund  in  dum  ;  you  've  got  to  decline 
it,  and  then  you  '11  find  it.  Look  here ! "  she  'd  say  ;  "  run  that 
'ere  through  the  moods  an'  tenses,  and  ye  '11  git  it  in  the  sub- 
junctive"; or,  "  Massy,  child  !  that 'ere  is  one  o'  the  deponent 
verbs.  'T  ain't  got  any  active  form  ;  them  deponent  verbs  allus 
does  trouble  boys  till  they  git  used  to  'em." 

Now  these  provincialisms  might  have  excited  the  risibles  of  so 
keen  a  set  of  grammarians  as  we  were,  only  that  Miss  Randall 


428    '  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

was  a  dead  shot  in  any  case  of  difficulty  presented  by  the  learned 
languages.  No  matter  how  her  English  phrased  it,  she  had 
taught  so  many  boys  that  she  knew  every  hard  rub  and  difficult 
stepping-stone  and  tight  place  in  the  Latin  grammar  by  heart, 
and  had  relief  at  her  tongue's  end  for  any  distressed  beginner. 

In  the  cottage  over  which  Miss  Randall  presided,  Harry  and 
I  had  our  room,  and  we  were  boarded  at  the  master's  table  ;  and 
so  far  we  were  fortunate.  Our  apartment,  which  was  a  roof- 
room  of  a  gambrel-roofed  cottage,  was,  to  be  sure,  unplastered 
and  carpetless ;  but  it  looked  out  through  the  boughs  of  a  great 
apple-tree,  up  a  most  bewildering  blue  vista  of  mountains,  whence 
the  sight  of  a  sunset  was  something  forever  to  be  remembered. 
All  our  physical  appointments,  though  rustically  plain,  were  kept 
by  Miss  Nervy  in  the  utmost  perfection  of  neatness.  She  had 
as  great  a  passion  for  soap  and  sand  as  she  had  for  Greek  roots, 
and  probably  for  the  same  reason.  These  wild  sea-coast  coun- 
tries seemed  to  produce  a  sort  of  superfluity  of  energy  which 
longed  to  wreak  itself  on  something,  and  delighted  in  digging 
and  delving  mentally  as  well  as  physically. 

Our  table  had  a  pastoral  perfection  in  the  articles  of  bread  and 
butter,  with  honey  furnished  by  Miss  Minerva's  bees,  and  game 
and  fish  brought  in  by  the  united  woodcraft  of  the  minister  and 
Mr.  Rossiter. 

Mr.  Rossiter  pursued  all  the  natural  sciences  with  an  industry 
and  enthusiasm  only  possible  to  a  man  who  lives  in  so  lonely  and 
retired  a  place  as  Cloudland,  and  who  has,  therefore,  none  of  the 
thousand  dissipations  of  time  resulting  from  our  modern  sys- 
tem of  intercommunication,  which  is  fast  producing  a  state  of 
shallow  and  superficial  knowledge.  He  had  a  ponderous  herba- 
rium, of  some  forty  or  fifty  folios,  of  his  own  collection  and  ar- 
rangement, over  which  he  gloated  with  affectionate  pride.  He 
had  a  fine  mineralogical  cabinet ;  and  there  was  scarcely  a  ledge 
of  rocks  within  a  circuit  of  twelve  miles  that  had  not  resounded 
to  the  tap  of  his  stone  hammer  and  furnished  specimens  for 
his  collection;  and  he  had  an  entomologic  collection,  where 
luckless  bugs  impaled  on  steel  pins  stuck  in  thin  sheets  of 
cork  struggled  away  a  melancholy  existence,  martyrs  to  the 


SCHOOL-LIFE  IN   CLOUDLAND.  429 

taste  for  science.  The  tender-hearted  among  us  sometimes 
ventured  a  remonstrance  in  favor  of  these  hapless  beetles,  but 
were  silenced  by  the  authoritative  dictum  of  Mr.  Rossiter.  "  In- 
sects," he  declared,  "are  unsusceptible  of  pain,  the  structure 
of  their  nervous  organization  forbidding  the  idea,  and  their  spas- 
modic action  being  simply  nervous  contraction."  As  nobody 
has  ever  been  inside  of  a  beetle  to  certify  to  the  contrary,  and  as 
the  race  have  no  mode  of  communication,  we  all  found  it  com- 
fortable to  put  implicit  faith  in  Mr.  Rossiter's  statements  till 
better  advised. 

It  was  among  the  awe-inspiring  legends  that  were  current  of 
Mr.  Rossiter  in  the  school,  that  he  corresponded  with  learned  men 
in  Norway  and  Sweden,  Switzerland  and  France,  to  whom  he 
sent  specimens  of  American  plants  and  minerals  and  insects,  re- 
ceiving in  return  those  of  other  countries.  Even  in  that  remote 
day,  little  New  England  had  her  eyes  and  her  thoughts  and  her 
hands  everywhere  where  ship  could  sail. 

Mr.  Rossiter  dearly  loved  to  talk  and  to  teach,  and  out  of 
school-hours  it  was  his  delight  to  sit  surrounded  by  his  disciples, 
to  answer  their  questions,  and  show  them  his  herbarium  and  his 
cabinet,  to  organize  woodland  tramps,  and  to  start  us  on  re- 
searches similar  to  his  own.  It  was  fashionable  in  his  school  to 
have  private  herbariums  and  cabinets,  and  before  a  month  was 
passed  our  garret-room  began  to  look  quite  like  a  grotto.  In 
short,  Mr.  Rossiter's  system  resembled  that  of  those  gardeners 
who,  instead  of  bending  all  their  energies  toward  making  a  hand- 
some head  to  a  young  tree,  encourage  it  to  burst  out  in  suckers 
clear  down  to  the  root,  bringing  every  part  of  it  into  vigorous  life 
and  circulation. 

I  still  remember  the  blessed  old  fellow,  as  he  used  to  sit 
among  us  on  the  steps  of  his  house,  in  some  of  those  resplendent 
moonlight  nights  which  used  to  light  up  Cloudland  like  a  fairy 
dream.  There  he  still  sits,  in  memory,  with  his  court  around 
him,  —  Esther,  with  the  thoughtful  shadows  in  her  eyes  and  the 
pensive  Psyche  profile,  and  Tina,  ever  restless,  changing,  enthu- 
siastic, Harry  with  his  sly,  reticent  humor  and  silent  enjoy- 
ment, anfl  he,  our  master,  talking  of  everything  under  the  sun, 


430  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

past,  present,  and  to  come,  —  of  the  cathedrals  and  pictures  of 
Europe,  describing  those  he  had  not  seen  apparently  with  as 
minute  a  knowledge  as  those  he  had,  —  of  plants  and  animals,  — 
of  the  ancients  and  the  moderns,  —  of  theology,  metaphysics, 
grammar,  rhetoric,  or  whatever  came  uppermost,  —  always  full 
and  suggestive,  startling  us  with  paradoxes,  provoking  us  to  argu- 
ments, setting  us  out  to  run  eager  tilts  of  discussion  with  him,  yet 
in  all  holding  us  in  a  state  of  unmeasured  admiration.  Was  he 
conscious,  our  great  m,an  and  master,  of  that  weakness  of  his 
nature  which  made  an  audience,  and  an  admiring  one,  always  a 
necessity  to  him  ?  Of  a  soul  naturally  self-distrustful  and  melan- 
choly, he  needed  to  be  constantly  reinforced  and  built  up  in  his 
own  esteem  by  the  suffrage  of  others.  What  seemed  the  most 
trenchant  self-assertion  in  him  was,  after  all,  only  the  desperate 
struggles  of  a  drowning  man  to  keep  his  head  above  water; 
and,  though  he  seemed  at  times  to  despise  us  all,  our  good 
opinion,  our  worship  and  reverence,  were  the  raft  that  kept  him 
from  sinking  in  despair. 

.The  first  few  weeks  that  Tina  was  in  school,  it  was  evident 
that  Mr.  Rossiter  considered  her  as  a  spoiled  child  of  fortune, 
whom  the  world  had  conspired  to  injure  by  over-much  petting. 
He  appeared  resolved  at  once  to  change  the  atmosphere  and 
the  diet.  For  some  time  in  school  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  do 
nothing  to  please  him.  He  seemed  determined  to  put  her  through 
a  sort  of  Spartan  drill,  with  hard  work  and  small  praise. 

Tina  had  received  from  nature  and  womanhood  that  inspira- 
tion in  dress  and  toilet  attraction  which  led  her  always  and  in- 
stinctively to  some  little  form  of  personal  adornment.  Every 
wild  spray  or  fluttering  vine  in  our  woodland  rambles  seemed  to 
suggest  to  her  some  caprice  of  ornamentation.  Each  day  she 
had  some  new  thing  in  her  hair,  —  now  a  feathery  fern-leaf,  and 
anon  some  wild  red  berry,  whose  presence  just  where  she  placed 
it  was  as  picturesque  as  a  French  lithograph ;  and  we  boys  were 
in  the  habit  of  looking  each  day  to  see  what  she  would  wear  next. 
One  morning  she  came  into  school,  fair  as  Ariadne,  with  her 
viny  golden  curls  rippling  over  and  around  a  crown  of  laurel- 
blossoms.  She  seemed  to  us  like  a  little  woodland  pdfeni.  We 


SCHOOL-LIFE    IN   CLOUDLAXD.  431 

all  looked  at  her,  and  complimented  her,  and  she  received  our 
compliments,  as  she  always  did  coin  of  that  sort,  with  the  most 
undisguised  and  radiant  satisfaction.  Mr.  Rossiter  was  in  one  of 
his  most  savage  humors  this  morning,  and  eyed  the  pretty  toilet 
grimly.  "  If  you  had  only  an  equal  talent  for  ornamenting  the 
inside  of  your  head,"  he  said  to  her,  "  there  might  be  some  hopes 
of  you." 

Tears  of  mortification  came  into  Tina's  eyes,  as  she  dashed  the 
offending  laurel-blossoms  out  of  the  window,  and  bent  resolutely 
over  her  book.  At  recess-time  she  strolled  out  with  me  into  the 
pine  woods  back  of  the  BChool-heDte,  and  we  sat  down  on  a  mossy 
log  together,  and  I  comforted  her  and  took  her  part. 

" I  don't  care,  Horace,"  she  said,  —  "I  don't  care  ! "  and  she 
dashed  the  tears  out  of  her  eyes.  "  I  '11  mate  that  man  like  me 
yet,  —  you  see  if  I  don't.  He  shall  like  me  before  I  'm  done  with 
him,  so  there  !  I  don't  care  how  much  he  scolds.  I  '11  give  in  to 
him,  and  do  exactly  as  he  tells  me,  but  I  '11  conquer  hirn,  —  you 
see  if  I  don't." 

And  true  enough  Miss  Tina  from  this  time  brushed  her  curly 
hair  straight  as  such  rebellious  curls  possibly  could  be  brushed, 
and  dressed  herself  as  plainly  as  Esther,  and  went  at  study  as  if 
her  life  depended  on  it.  She  took  all  Mr.  Rossiter's  snubs  and 
despiteful  sayings  with  the  most  prostrate  humility,  and  now  we 
began  to  learn,  to  our  astonishment,  what  a  mind  the  little  crea- 
ture had.  In  all  my  experience  of  human  beings,  I  never  saw 
one  who  learned  so  easily  as  she.  It  was  but  a  week  or  two 
after  she  began  the  Latin  grammar  before,  jumping  over  all  the 
intermediate  books,  she  alighted  in  a  class  in  Virgil  among  schol- 
ars who  had  been  studying  for  a  year,  and  kept  up  with  them, 
and  in  some  respects  stood  clearly  as  the  first  scholar.  The  vim 
with  which  the  little  puss  went  at  it,  the  zeal  with  which  she  turned 
over  the  big  dictionary  and  whirled  the  leaves  of  the  grammar, 
the  almost  inspiration  which  she  showed  in  seizing  the  poetical 
shading  of  words  over  which  her  more  prosaic  companions 
blundered,  were  matters  of  never-ending  astonishment  and  admi- 
ration to  Harry  and  myself.  At  the  end  of  the  first  week  she 
gravely  announced  to  us  that  she  intended  to  render  Virgil  into 


432  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

English  verse ;  and  we  had  not  the  smallest  doubt  that  she 
would  do  it,  and  were  so  immensely  wrought  up  about  it  that  we 
talked  of  it  after  we  went  to  bed  that  night.  Tina,  in  fact,  had 
produced  quite  a  clever  translation  of  the  first  ten  lines  of 
"  Arma  virumque,"  &c.  and  we  wondered  what  Mr.  Rossiter  would 
say  to  it.  One  of  us  stepped  in  and  laid  it  on  his  writing-desk. 

"  Which  of  you  boys  did  this  ?  "  he  said  the  next  morning,  in 
not  a  disapproving  tone. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  he  slowly  read  the  lines  aloud. 

"  Pretty  fair ! "  he  said,  —  "  pretty  fair !  I  should  n't  be  sur- 
prised if  that  boy  should  be  able  to  write  English  one  of  these 
days." 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  I,  "  it 's  Miss  Tina  Percival  that 
wrote  that." 

Tina's  cheeks  were  red  enough  as  he  handed  her  back  her 
poetry. 

"  Not  bad,"  he  said,  —  "  not  bad  ;  keep  on  as  you  've  begun, 
and  you  may  come  to  something  yet." 

This  scanty  measure  of  approbation  was  interpreted  as  high 
praise,  and  we  complimented  Tina  on  her  success.  The  project 
of  making  a  poetical  translation  of  Virgil,  however,  was  not  car- 
ried out,  though  every  now  and  then  she  gave  us  little  jets  and 
spurts,  which  kept  up  our  courage. 

Bless  me,  how  we  did  study  everything  in  that  school !  Eng- 
lish grammar,  for  instance.  The  whole  school  was  divided  into 
a  certain  number  of  classes,  each  under  a  leader,  and  at  the  close 
of  every  term  came  on  a  great  examination,  which  was  like  a 
tournament  or  passage  at  arms  in  matters  of  the  English  lan- 
guage. To  beat  in  this  great  contest  of  knowledge  was  what 
excited  all  our  energies.  Mr.  Rossiter  searched  out  the  most 
difficult  specimens  of  English  literature  for  us  to  parse,  and 
we  were  given  to  understand  that  he  was  laying  up  all  the  most 
abstruse  problems  of  grammar  to  propound  to  us.  All  that 
might  be  raked  out  from  the  coarse  print  and  the  fine  print  of 
grammar  was  to  be  brought  to  bear  on  us  ;  and  the  division  that 
knew  the  most  —  the  division  that  could  not  be  puzzled  by  any 
subtlety,  that  had  anticipated  every  possible  question,  and  was 


SCHOOL-LIFE  IN  CLOUDLAND.  433 

prepared'  with  an  answer  —  would  be  the  victorious  division,  and 
would  be  crowned  with  laurels  as  glorious  in  our  eyes  as  those  of 
the  old  Olympic  games.  For  a  week  we  talked,  spoke,  and 
dreamed  of  nothing  but  English  grammar.  Each  division  sat'in 
solemn,  mysterious  conclave,  afraid  lest  one  of  its  mighty  secrets 
of  wisdom  should  possibly  take  wing  and  be  plundered  by  some 
of  the  outlying  scouts  of  another  division. 

We  had  for  a  subject  Satan's  address  to  the  sun,  in  Milton, 
which  in  our  private  counsels  we  tore  limb  from  limb  with  as 
little  remorse  as  the  anatomist  dissects  a  once  lovely  human  body. 

The  town  doctor  was  a  noted  linguist  and  grammarian,  and  his 
son  was  contended  for  by  all  the  divisions,  as  supposed  to  have 
access  to  the  fountain  of  his  father's  wisdom  on  these  subjects ; 
and  we  were  so  happy  in  the  balloting  as  to  secure  him  for  our 
side.  Esther  was  our  leader,  and  we  were  all  in  the  same  divis- 
ion, and  our  excitement  was  indescribable.  We  had  also  to  man- 
age a  quotation  from  Otway,  which  I  remember  contained  the 
clause,  "  Were  the  world  on  fire."  To  parse  "  on  fire "  was  a 
problem  which  kept  the  eyes  of  the  whole  school  waking.  Each 
division  had  its  theory,  of  which  it  spoke  mysteriously  in  the 
presence  of  outsiders ;  but  we  had  George  Norton,  and  George 
had  been  in  solemn  consultation  with  Dr.  Norton.  Never  shall  I 
forget  the  excitement  as  he  came  rushing  up  to  our  house  at  nine 
o'clock  at  night  with  the  last  results  of  his  father's  analysis.  We 
shut  the  doors  and  shut  the  windows,  —  for  who  knew  what  of 
the  enemy  might  be  listening?  —  and  gathered  breathlessly 
around  him,  while  in  a  low,  mysterious  voice  he  unfolded  to  us 
how  to  parse  "on  fire."  At  that  moment  George  Norton  en-» 
joyed  the  full  pleasure  of  being  a  distinguished  individual,  if  he 
never  did  before  or  after. 

Mr.  Rossiter  all  this  while  was  like  the  Egyptian  Sphinx,  per- 
fectly unfathomable,  and  severely  resolved  to  sift  and  test  us  to 
the  utmost. 

Ah,  well !  to  think  of  the  glories  of  the  day  when  our  divis- 
ion beat !  —  for  we  did  beat.  We  ran  along  neck  and  neck  with 
Ben  Baldwin's  division,  for  Ben  was  an  accomplished  gramma- 
rian, and  had  picked  up  one  or  two  recondite  pieces  of  informa- 

19  BB 


434  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

tion  wherewith  he  threatened  for  a  time  to  turn  our  flank,  but 
the  fortunes  of  the  field  were  reversed  when  it  came  to  the 
phrase  "  on  fire,"  and  our  success  was  complete  and  glorious.  It 
was  well  to  have  this  conflict  over,  for  I  don't  believe  that  Tina 
slept  one  night  that  week  without  dreams  of  particles  and  prep- 
ositions, —  Tina,  who  was  as  full  of  the  enthusiasm  of  everything 
,  that  was  going  on  as  a  flossy  evening  cloud  is  of  light,  and  to 
whose  health  I  really  do  believe  a  defeat  might  have  caused  a 
serious  injury. 

Never  shall  I  forget  Esther,  radiant,  grave,  and  resolved,  as 
she  sat  in  the  midst  of  her  division  through  all  the  fluctuations 
of  the  contest.  A  little  bright  spot  had  come  in  each  of  her 
usually  pale  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  glowed  with  a  fervor  which 
showed  that  she  had  it  in  her  to  have  defended  a  fortress,  or 
served  a  cannon,  like  the  Maid  of  Saragossa.  We  could  not 
have  felt  more  if  our  division  had  been  our  country  and  she 
had  led  us  in  triumph  through  a  battle. 

Besides  grammar,  we  gave  great  attention  to  rhetoric.  We 
studied  Dr.  Blair  with  the  same  kind  of  thoroughness  with  which 
we  studied  the  English  grammar.  Every  week  a  division  of 
the  school  was  appointed  to  write  compositions  ;  but  there  was, 
besides,  a  call  for  volunteers,  and  Mr.  Rossiter  had  a  smile  of 
approbation  for  those  who  volunteered  to  write  every  week ;  and 
so  we  were  always  among  that  number. 

It  was  remarkable  that  the  very  best  writers,  as  a  general 
thing,  were  among  the  female  part  of  the  school.  There  were 
several  young  men,  of  nineteen  and  twenty  years  of  age,  whose 
education  had  been  retarded  by  the  necessity  of  earning  for  them 
selves  the  money  which  was  to  support  them  while  preparing 
for  college.  They  were  not  boys,  they  were  men,  and,  generally 
speaking,  men  of  fine  minds  and  fine  characters.  Some  of  them 
have  since  risen  to  distinction,  and  acted  leading  parts  at  Wash 
ington.  But,  for  all  that,  the  best  writers  of  the  school,  as  I  have 
before  said,  were  the  girls.  Nor  was  the  standard  of  writing 
low :  Mr.  Rossiter  had  the  most  withering  scorn  for  ordinary  sen- 
timental nonsense  and  school-girl  platitudes.  If  a  bit  of  weakly 
poetry  got  running  among  the  scholars,  he  was  sure  to  come 


SCHOOL-LIFE  IN   CLOUDLAND.  435 

down  upon  it  with  such  an  absurd  parody  that  nobody  could  ever 
recall  it  again  without  a  laugh. 

We  wrote  on  such  subjects  as  "The  Difference  between  the 
Natural  and  Moral  Sublime,"  "  The  Comparative  Merits  of  Mil- 
ton and  Shakespeare,"  "  The  Comparative  Merits  of  the  Athe- 
nian and  Lacedaemonian  Systems  of  Education."  Sometimes, 
also,  we  wrote  criticisms.  If,  perchance,  the  master  picked  up 
some  verbose  Fourth  of  July  oration,  or  some  sophomorical  news- 
paper declamation,  he  delivered  it  over  to  our  tender  mercies 
with  as  little  remorse  as  a  huntsman  feels  in  throwing  a  dead 
fox  to  the  dogs.  Hard  was  the  fate  of  any  such  composition 
thrown  out  to  us.  With  what  infinite  zeal  we  attacked  it !  how 
we  riddled  and  shook  it !  how  we  scoffed,  and  sneered,  and  jeered 
at  it !  how  we  exposed  its  limping  metaphors,  and  hung  up  in 
triumph  its  deficient  grammar !  Such  a  sharp  set  of  critics 
we  became  that  our  compositions,  read  to  each  other,  went 
through  something  of  an  ordeal. 

Tina,  Harry,  Esther,  and  I  were  a  private  composition  club. 
Many  an  hour  have  we  sat  in  the  old  school-room  long  after  all 
the  other  scholars  had  gone,  talking  to  one  another  of  our  literary 
schemes.  We  planned  poems  and  tragedies;  we  planned  ro- 
mances that  would  have  taken  many  volumes  to  write  out ;  we 
planned  arguments  and  discussions ;  we  gravely  criticised  each 
other's  style,  and  read  morsels  of  projected  compositions  to  one 
another. 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  simple,  earnest  fearlessness  of  those 
times  in  regard  to  all  matters  of  opinion,  that  the  hardest  theo- 
logical problems  were  sometimes  given  out  as  composition  sub- 
jects, and  we  four  children  not  unfrequently  sat  perched  on  the 
old  high  benches  of  the  school-room  during  the  fading  twilight 
hours,  and,  like  Milton's  fallen  angels,  — 

"  Reasoned  high 

Of  providence,  foreknowledge,  will,  and  fate ; 
Fixed  fate,  free  will,  foreknowledge  absolute,  .... 
Of  happiness  and  final  misery." 

Esther,  Harry,  and  I  were  reading  the  "  Prometheus  Bound  ' 
with  Mr.  Rossiter.  It  was  one  of  his  literary  diversions,  into 


436  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

which  he  carried  us ;  and  the  Calvinism  of  the  old  Greek  trage- 
dian mingling  with  the  Calvinism  of  the  pulpit  and  of  modern 
New  England  life,  formed  a  curious  admixture  in  our  thoughts. 

Tina  insisted  on  reading  this  with  us,  just  as  of  old  she  in- 
sisted on  being  carried  in  a  lady  chair  over  to  our  woodland  study 
in  the  island.  She  had  begun  Greek  with  great  zeal  under  Mr. 
Rossiter,  but  of  course  was  in  no  situation  to  venture  upon  any 
such  heights ;  but  she  insisted  upon  always  being  with  us  when 
we  were  digging  out  our  lesson,  and  in  fact,  when  we  were  talk- 
ing over  doubtfully  the  meaning  of  a  passage,  would  irradiate  it 
with  such  a  flood  of  happy  conjecture  as  ought  to  have  softened 
the  stern  facts  of  moods  and  tenses,  and  made  itself  the  meaning. 
She  rendered  sonou  parts  of  it  into  verse  much  better  than  any 
of  us  could  have  done  it,  and  her  versifications,  laid  on  Mr.  Ros- 
siter's  desk,  called  out  a  commendation  that  was  no  small  triumph 
to  her. 

"  My  forte  lies  in  picking  knowledge  out  of  other  folks  and 
using  it,"  said  Tina,  joyously.  "  Out  of  the  least  bit  of  ore  that 
you  dig  up,  I  can  make  no  end  of  gold-leaf ! "  O  Tina,  Tina, 
you  never  spoke  a  truer  word,  and  while  you  were  with  us  you 
made  everything  glitter  with  your  "  no  end  of  gold-leaf." 

It  may  seem  to  some  impossible  that,  at  so  early  an  age  as 
ours,  our  minds  should  have  striven  with  subjects  such  as  have 
been  indicated  here ;  but  let  it  be  remembered  that  these  prob- 
lems are  to  every  human  individual  a  part  of  an  unknown  tragedy 
in  which  he  is  to  play  the  role  either  of  the  conqueror  or  the 
victim.  A  ritualistic  church,  which  places  all  souls  under  the 
guardianship  of  a  priesthood,  of  course  shuts  all  these  doors  of 
discussion  so  far  as  the  individual  is  concerned.  "  The  Church  " 
is  a  great  ship,  where  you  have  only  to  buy  your  ticket  and  pay 
for  it,  and  the  rest  is  none  of  your  concern.  But  the  New  Eng- 
land system,  as  taught  at  this  time,  put  on  every  human  being 
the  necessity  of  crossing  the  shoreless  ocean  alone  on  his  own 
raft;  and  many  a  New  England  child  of  ten  or  twelve  years  of 
age,  or  even  younger,  has  trembled  at  the  possibilities  of  final 
election  or  reprobation. 

I  remember  well  that  at  one  time  the  composition  subject 


SCHOOL-LIFE  IN   CLOUDLAND.  437 

given  out  at  school  was,  "  Can  the  Benevolence  of  the  Deity 
be  proved  by  the  Light  of  Nature  ?  "  Mr.  Rossiter  generally 
gave  out  the  subject,  and  discussed  it  with  the  school  in  an 
animated  conversation,  stirring  up  all  the  thinking  matter  that 
there  was  among  us  by  vigorous  questions,  and  by  arguing 
before  us  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other,  until  our 
minds  were  strongly  excited  about  it ;  and,  when  he  had  wrought 
up  the  whole  school  to  an  intense  interest,  he  called  for  volun- 
teers to  write  on  either  side.  Many  of  these  compositions  were 
full  of  vigor  and  thought ;  two  of  those  on  the  above-mentioned 
subject  were  very  striking.  Harry  took  the  affirmative  ground, 
and  gave  a  statement  of  the  argument,  so  lucid,  and  in  language 
so  beautiful,  that  it  has  remained  fixed  in  my  mind  like  a  gem 
ever  since.  It  was  the  statement  of  a  nature  harmonious  and 
confiding,  naturally  prone  to  faith  in  goodness,  harmonizing  and 
presenting  all  those  evidences  of  tenderness,  mercy,  and  thought- 
ful care  which  are  furnished  in  the  workings  of  natural  laws. 
The  other  composition  was  by  Esther ;  it  was  on  the  other  and 
darker  side  of  the  subject,  and  as  perfect  a  match  for  it  as  the 
u  Penseroso "  to  the  "  Allegro."  It  was  condensed  and  logical, 
fearfully  vigorous  in  conception  and  expression,  and  altogether  a 
very  melancholy  piece  of  literature  to  have  been  conceived  and 
written  by  a  girl  of  her  age.  It  spoke  of  that  fearful  law  of  ex- 
istence by  which  the  sins  of  parents  who  often  themselves  escape 
punishment  are  visited  on  the  heads  of  innocent  children,  as  a 
law  which  seems  made  specifically  to  protect  and  continue  the 
existence  of  vice  and  disorder  from  generation  to  generation. 
It  spoke  of  the  apparent  injustice  of  an  arrangement  by  which 
human  beings,  in  the  very  outset  of  their  career  in  life,  often 
inherit  almost  uncontrollable  propensities  to  evil.  The  sorrows, 
the  perplexities,  the  unregarded  wants  and  aspirations,  over 
which  the  unsympathetic  laws  of  nature  cut  their  way  regard- 
less of  quivering  nerve  or  muscle,  were  all  bitterly  dwelt  upon. 
The  sufferings  of  dumb  animals,  and  of  helpless  infant  children, 
apparently  so  useless  and  so  needless,  and  certainly  so  unde- 
served, were  also  energetically  mentioned.  There  was  a  bitter 
intensity  in  the  style"  that  was  most  painful.  In  short,  the  two 


438  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

compositions  were  two  perfect  pictures  of  the  world  and  life  as 
they  appear  to  two  classes  of  minds.  I  remember  looking  at 
Esther  while  her  composition  was  read,  and  being  struck  with 
the  expression  of  her  face,  —  so  pale,  so  calm,  so  almost  hope- 
less, —  its  expression  was  very  like  despair.  I  remember  that 
Harry  noticed  it  as  well  as  I,  and  when  school  was  over  he 
took  a  long  and  lonely  ramble  with  her,  and  from  that  time  a 
nearer  intimacy  arose  between  them. 

Esther  was  one  of  those  intense,  silent,  repressed  women 
that  have  been  a  frequent  outgrowth  of  New  England  society. 
Moral  traits,  like  physical  ones,  often  intensify  themselves  in 
course  of  descent,  so  that  the  child  of  a  long  line  of  pious  ances- 
try may  sometimes  suffer  from  too  fine  a  moral  fibre,  and  become 
a  victim  to  a  species  of  morbid  spiritual  ideality. 

Esther  looked  to  me,  from  the  first,  less  like  a  warm,  breath- 
ing, impulsive  woman,  less  like  ordinary  flesh  and  blood,  than 
some  half-spiritual  organization,  every  particle  of  which  was  a 
thought. 

Old  Dr.  Donne  says  of  such  a  woman,  "  One  might  almost  say 
her  body  thought " ;  and  it  often  came  in  my  mind  when  I 
watched  the  movements  of  intense  yet  repressed  intellect  and 
emotion  in  Esther's  face. 

With  many  New  England  women  at  this  particular  period, 
when  life  was  so  retired  and  so  cut  off  from  outward  sources  of 
excitement,  thinking  grew  to  be  a  disease.  The  great  subject 
of  thought  was,  of  course,  theology ;  and  woman's  nature  has 
never  been  consulted  in  theology.  Theologic  systems,  as  to  the 
expression  of  their  great  body  of  ideas,  have,  as  yet,  been 
the  work  of  man  alone.  They  have  had  their  origin,  as  in 
St.  Augustine,  with  men  who  were  utterly  ignorant  of  moral  and 
intellectual  companionship  with  woman,  looking  on  her  only  in 
her  animal  nature  as  a  temptation  and  a  snare.  Consequently, 
when,  as  in  this  period  of  New  England,  the  theology  of 
Augustine  began  to  be  freely  discussed  by  every  individual 
in  society,  it  was  the  women  who  found  it  hardest  to  tolerate  or 
to  assimilate  it,  and  many  a  delicate  and  sensitive  nature  was 
utterly  wrecked  in  the  struggle. 


SCHOOL-LIFE  IN   CLOUDLAXD.  439 

Plato  says  somewhere  that  the  only  perfect  human  thinker 
and  philosopher  who  will  ever  arise  will  be  the  MAN-WOMAN,  or 
a  human  being  who  unites  perfectly  the  nature  of  the  two  sexes. 
It  was  Esther's  misfortune  to  have,  to  a  certain  degree,  this 
very  conformation.  From  a  long  line  of  reasoning,  thinking, 
intellectual  ancestry  she  had  inherited  all  the  strong  logical  facul- 
ties, and  the  tastes  and  inclinations  for  purely  intellectual  modes 
of  viewing  things,  which  are  supposed  to  be  more  particularly 
the  characteristic  of  man.  From  a  line  of  saintly  and  tender 
women,  half  refined  to  angel  in  their  nature,  she  had  inherited 
exquisite  moral  perceptions,  and  all  that  flattering  host  of  tremu- 
lous, half-spiritual,  half-sensuous  intuitions  that  lie  in  the  border- 
land between .  the  pure  intellect  and  the  animal  nature.  The 
consequence  of  all  this  was  the  internal  strife  of  a  divided  na- 
ture. Her  heart  was  always  rebelling  against  the  conclusions 
of  her  head.  She  was  constantly  being  forced  by  one  half  of  her 
nature  to  movements,  inquiries,  and  reasonings  which  brought 
only  torture  to  the  other  half. 

Esther  had  no  capacity  for  illusions ;  and  in  this  respect  her 
constitution  was  an  unfortunate  one. 

Tina,  for  example,  was  one  of  those  happily  organized  human 
beings  in  whom  an  intellectual  proposition,  fully  assented  to, 
might  lie  all  her  life  dormant  as  the  wheat-seed  which  remained 
thousands  of  years  ungerminate  in  the  wrappings  of  a  mummy. 
She  thought  only  of  what  she  liked  to  think  of;  and  a  disagree- 
able or  painful  truth  in  her  mind  dropped  at  once  out  of  sight,  — 
it  sank  into  the  ground  and  roses  grew  over  it. 

Esther  never  could  have  made  one  of  those  clinging,  submis- 
sive, parasitical  wives  who  form  the  delight  of  song  and  story,  and 
are  supposed  to  be  the  peculiar  gems  of  womanhood.  It  was  her 
nature  always  to  be  obliged  to  see  her  friends  clearly*  through 
the  understanding,  and  to  judge  them  by  a  refined  and  exquisite 
conscientiousness.  A  spot  or  stain  on  the  honor  of  the  most 
beloved  could  never  have  become  invisible  to  her.  She  had  none 
of  that  soft,  blinding,  social  aura,  —  that  blending,  blue  haze, 
such  as  softens  the  sharp  outlines  of  an  Italian  landscape,  and  in 
life  changes  the  hardness  of  reality  into  illusive  and  charming 


440  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

possibilities.  Her  clear,  piercing  hazel  eyes  seemed  to  pass 
over  everything  with  a  determination  to  know  only  and  exactly 
the  truth,  hard  and  cold  and  unwelcome  though  it  might  be. 

Yet  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  warm,  sunny,  showery,  rain- 
bow nature  of  Tina  acted  as  a  constant  and  favorable  alterative 
upon  her.  It  was  a  daily  living  poem  acting  on  the  unused 
poetical  and  imaginative  part  of  her  own  nature  ;  for  Esther  had 
a  suppressed  vigor  of  imagination,  and  a  passionate  capability 
of  emotion,  stronger  and  more  intense  than  that  of  Tina  herself. 

I  remarked  this  to  Harry,  as  we  were  talking  about  them  one 
day.  "  Both  have  poetical  natures,"  I  said ;  "  both  are  intense  ; 
but  how  different  they  are  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Harry,  "  Tina's  is  electricity,  and  that  snaps 
and  sparkles  and  flashes ;  Esther's  is  galvanism,  that  comes  in 
long,  intense  waves,  and  shakes  arid  convulses ;  she  both  thinks 
and  feels  too  much  on  all  subjects." 

"  That  was  a  very  strange  composition,"  I  said. 

"  It  is  an  unwholesome  course  of  thought,"  said  Harry,  after 
thinking  for  a  few  moments  with  his  head  on  his  hands ;  "  none 
but  bitter  berries  grow  on  those  bushes." 

"  But  the  reasoning  was  very  striking,"  said  I. 

"  Reasoning !  "  said  Harry,  impatiently ;  "  we  must  trust  the 
intuition  of  our  hearts  above  reason.  That  is  what  I  am  trying 
to  persuade  Esther  to  do.  To  me  it  is  an  absolute  demonstra- 
tion, that  God  never  could  make  a  creature  who  would  be  better 
than  himself.  We  must  look  at  the  noblest,  best  human  beings. 
"We  must  see  what  generosity,  what  tenderness,  what  magnanim- 
ity can  be  in  man  and  woman,  and  believe  all  that  and  more  in 
God.  All  that  there  is  in  the  best  fathers  and  best  mothers 
must  be  in  him." 

"  But  the  world's  history  does  not  look  like  this,  as  Mr.  Rossi- 
ter  was  saying." 

"We  have  not  seen  the  world's  history  yet,"  said  Harry. 
"  What  does  this  green  aphide,  crawling  over  this  leaf,  know  of 
the  universe  ?  " 


OUR  MINISTER  IN  CLOUDLAND.  441 

CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

OUR    MINISTER    IN    CLOUDLAND. 

THE  picture  of  our  life  in  Cloudland,  and  of  the  developing 
forces  which  were  there  brought  to  bear  upon  us,  would  be 
incomplete  without  the  portrait  of  the  minister. 

Even  during  the  course  of  my  youth,  the  principles  of  demo- 
cratic equality  introduced  and  maintained  in  the  American  Rev- 
olution were  greatly  changing  the  social  position  and  standing 
of  the  clergy.  Ministers  like  Dr.  Lothrop,  noble  men  of  the 
theocracy,  men  of  the  cocked  hat,  were  beginning  to  pass  away, 
or  to  appear  among  men  only  as  venerable  antiquities,  and  the 
present  order  of  American  citizen  clergy  was  coming  in. 

Mr.  Avery  was  a  cheerful,  busy,  manly  man,  who  posed  himself 
among  men  as  a  companion  and  fellow-citizen,  whose  word  on 
any  subject  was  to  go  only  so  far  as  its  own  weight  and  momen- 
tum should  carry  it.  His  preaching  was  a  striking  contrast  to 
the  elegant  Addisonian  essays  of  Parson  Lothrop.  It  was  a 
vehement  address  to  our  intelligent  and  reasoning  powers,  —  an 
address  made  telling  by  a  back  force  of  burning  enthusiasm. 
Mr.  Avery  preached  a  vigorous  system  of  mental  philosophy  in 
theology,  which  made  our  Sundays,  on  the  whole,  about  as  intense 
an  intellectual  drill  as  any  of  our  week-days.  If  I  could  de- 
scribe its  character  by  any  one  word,  I  should  call  it  manly 
preaching. 

Every  person  has  a  key-note  to  his  mind  which  determines  all 
its  various  harmonies.  The  key-note  of  Mr.  Avery's  mind  was 
"  the  free  agency  of  man."  Free  agency  was  with  him  the  uni- 
versal solvent,  the  philosopher's  stone  in  theology ;  every  line  of 
his  sermons  said  to  every  human  being,  "  You  are  free,  and  you 
are  able."  And  the  great  object  was  to  intensify  to  its  highest 
point,  in  every  human  being,  the  sense  of  individual,  personal 
responsibility. 

19* 


442  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Of  course,  as  a  Calvinist,  he  found  food  for  abundant  discourse 
in  reconciling  this  absolute  freedom  of  man  with  those  declara- 
tions in  the  standards  of  the  Church  which  assert  the  absolute 
government  of  God  over  all  his  creatures  and  all  their  actions. 
But  the  cheerfulness  and  vigor  with  which  he  drove  and  inter- 
preted and  hammered  in  the  most  contradictory  statements,  when 
they  came  in  the  way  of  his  favorite  ideas,  was  really  quite 
inspiring. 

During  the  year  we  had  a  whole  course  of  systematic  theology, 
beginning  with  the  history  of  the  introduction  of  moral  evil,  the 
fall  of  the  angels,  and  the  consequent  fall  of  man  and  the  work 
of  redemption  resulting  therefrom.  In  the  treatment  of  all  these 
subjects,  the  theology  and  imagery  of  Milton  figured  so  largely 
that  one  might  receive  the  impression  that  Paradise  Lost  was 
part  of  the  sacred  canon. 

Mr.  Avery  not  only  preached  these  things  in  the  pulpit,  but 
talked  them  out  in  his  daily  life.  His  system  of  theology  was  to 
him  the  vital  breath  of  his  being.  His  mind  was  always  running 
upon  it,  and  all  nature  was,  in  his  sight,  giving  daily«tributary 
illustrations  to  it.  In  his  farming,  gardening,  hunting,  or  fishing, 
he  was  constantly  finding  new  and  graphic  forms  of  presenting 
his  favorite  truths.  The  most  abstract  subject  ceased  to  be 
abstract  in  his  treatment  of  it,  but  became  clothed  upon  with  the 
homely,  every-day  similes  of  common  life. 

I  have  the  image  of  the  dear  good  man  now,  as  I  have  seen 
him,  seated  on  a  hay-cart,  mending  a  hoe-handle,  and  at  the  same 
moment  vehemently  explaining  to  an  inquiring  brother  minister 
the  exact  way  that  Satan  first  came  to  fall,  as  illustrating  how  a 
perfectly  holy  mind  can  be  tempted  to  sin.  The  familiarity  that 
he  showed  with  the  celestial  arcana,  —  the  zeal  with  which  he 
vindicated  his  Maker,  —  the  perfect  knowledge  that  he  seemed  to 
have  of  the  strategic  plans  of  the  evil  powers  in  the  first  great 
insurrection,  —  are  traits  strongly  impressed  on  my  memory. 
They  seemed  as  vivid  and  as  much  a  matter  of  course  to  his 
mind  as  if  he  had  read  them  out  of  a  weekly  newspaper. 

Mr.  Avery  indulged  the  fond  supposition  that  he  had  solved 
the  great  problem  of  the  origin  of  evil  in  a  perfectly  satisfactory 


OUR  MINISTER  IN   CLOUDLAND.  443 

manner.  He  was  fond  of  the  Socratic  method,  and  would  clench 
his  reasoning  in  a  series  of  questions,  thus :  — 

"  Has  not  God  power  to  make  any  kind  of  thing  he  pleases  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  he  can  make  a  kind  of  being  incapable  of  being  gov- 
erned except  by  motive  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then,  when  he  has  made  that  kind  of  being,  he  cannot  gov- 
ern them  except  by  motive,  can  he  ?" 

"No." 

"  Now  if  there  is  no  motive  in  existence  strong  enough  to 
govern  them  by,  he  cannot  keep  them  from  falling,  can  he  ?  " 

"No." 

"You  see  then  the  necessity  of  moral  evil:  there  must  be 
experience  of  evil  to  work  out  motive." 

The  Calvinism  of  Mr.  Avery,  though  sharp  and  well  defined, 
was  not  dull,  as  abstractions  often  are,  nor  gloomy  and  fateful 
like  that  of  Dr.  Stern.  It  was  permeated  through  and  through 
by  cheerfulness  and  hope. 

Mr.  Avery  was  one  of  the  kind  of  men  who  have  a  passion 
for  saving  souls.  If  there  is  such  a  thing  as  apostolic  succession, 
this  passion  is  what  it  ought  to  consist  in.  It  is  what  ought  to 
come  with  the  laying  on  of  hands,  if  the  laying  on  of  hands  is 
what  it  is  sometimes  claimed  to  be. 

Mr.  Avery  was  a  firm  believer  in  hell,  but  he  believed  also 
that  nobody  need  go  there,  and  he  was  determined,  so  far  as  he 
was  concerned,  that  nobody  should  go  there  if  he  could  help  it. 
Such  a  tragedy  as  the  loss  of  any  one  soul  in  his  parish  he 
could  not  and  would  not  contemplate  for  a  moment ;  and  he  had 
such  a  firm  belief  in  the  truths  he  preached,  that  he  verily  ex- 
pected with  them  to  save  anybody  that  would  listen  to  him. 

Goethe  says,  "  Blessed  is  the  man  who  believes  that  he  has  an 
idea  by  which  he  may  help  his  fellow-creatures."  Mr.  Avery 
was  exactly  that  man.  He  had  such  faith  in  what  he  preached 
that  he  would  have  gone  with  it  to  Satan  himself,  could  he  have 
secured  a  dispassionate  and  unemployed  hour,  with  a  hope  of 
bringing  him  round. 


444  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Generous  and  ardent  in  his  social  sympathies,  Mr.  Avery  never 
could  be  brought  to  believe  that  any  particular  human  being 
had  finally  perished.  At  every  funeral  he  attended  he  con- 
trived to  see  a  ground  for  hope  that  the  departed  had  found 
mercy.  Even  the  slightest  hints~of  repentance  were  magnified  in 
his  warm  and  hopeful  mode  of  presentation.  He  has  been  known 
to  suggest  to  a  distracted  mother,  whose  thoughtless  boy  had 
been  suddenly  killed  by  a  fall  from  a  horse,  the  possibilities  of 
the  merciful  old  couplet,  — 

"  Between  the  saddle  and  the  ground, 
Mercy  was  sought,  and  mercy  found." 

Like  most  of  the  New  England  ministers,  Mr.  Avery  was  a 
warm  believer  in  the  millennium.  This  millennium  was  the  favo- 
rite recreation  ground,  solace,  and  pasture  land,  where  the  New 
England  ministry  fed  their  hopes  and  courage.  Men  of  large 
hearts  and  •warm  benevolence,  their  theology  would  have  filled 
them  with  gloom,  were  it  not  for  this  overplus  of  joy  and  peace 
to  which  human  society  on  earth  was  in  their  view  tending. 
Thousands  of  years,  when  the  poor  old  earth  should  produce  only 
a  saintly  race  of  perfected  human  beings,  were  to  them  some  com- 
pensation for  the  darkness  and  losses  of  the  great  struggle. 

Mr.  Avery  believed,  not  only  that  the  millennium  was  coming, 
but  that'  it  was  coming  fast,  and,  in  fact,  was  at  the  door.  Every 
political  and  social  change  announced  it.  Our  Revolution  was  a 
long  step  towards  it,  and  the  French  Revolution,  now  in  progress, 
was  a  part  of  that  distress  of  nations  which  heralded  it;  and  every 
month,  when  the  Columbia  Magazine  brought  in  the  news  from 
Europe,  Mr.  Avery  rushed  over  to  Mr.  Rossiter,  and  called  him 
to  come  and  hear  how  the  thing  was  going. 

Mr.  Rossiter  took  upon  himself  that  right  which  every  free- 
born  Yankee  holds  sacred,  —  the  right  of  contravening  his  minis- 
ter. Though,  if  he  caught  one  of  his  boys  swelling  or  ruffling 
with  any  opposing  doctrine,  he  would  scath  and  scorch  the  young- 
ster with  contemptuous  irony,  and  teach  him  to  comport  himself 
modestly  in  talking  of  his  betters,  yet  it  was  the  employment  of 
a  great  many  of  his  leisure  hours  to  run  argumentative  tilts 
against  Mr.  Avery.  Sometimes,  when  we  were  sitting  in  our 


OUK  MINISTER  IN  CLOUDLAND.  445 

little  garret  window  digging  out  the  Greek  lessons,  such  a  war 
of  voices  and  clangor  of  assertion  and  contradiction  would  come 
up  from  among  the  tassels  of  the  corn,  where  the  two  were  hoe- 
ing together  in  the  garden,  as  would  have  alarmed  people  less 
accustomed  to  the  vigorous  manners  of  both  the  friends. 

"  Now,  Rossiter,  that  will  never  do.  Your  system  would  upset 
moral  government  entirely.  Not  an  angel  could  be  kept  in  his 
place  upon  your  supposition." 

"  It  is  not  my  supposition.  I  have  n't  got  any  supposition,  and 
I  don't  want  any ;  but  I  was  telling  you  that,  if  you  must  have  a 
theory  of  the  universe,  Origen's  was  a  better  one  than  yours." 

"  And  I  say  that  Origen's  system  would  upset  everything,  and 
you  ought  to  let  it  alone." 

"  I  sha'  n't  let  it  alone  !  " 

"Why,  Rossiter,  you  will  destroy  responsibility,  and  anni- 
hilate all  the  motives  of  God's  government." 

"  That's  just  what  you  theologians  always  say.  You  think  the 
universe  will  go  to  pieces  if  we  upset  your  pine-shingle  theology." 

"  Rossiter,  you  must  be  careful  how  you  spread  your  ideas." 

"  I  don't  want  to  spread  my  ideas ;  I  don't  want  to  interfere 
with  your  system.  It 's  the  best  thing  you  can  make  your 
people  take,  but  you  ought  to  know  that  no  system  is  anything 
more  than  human  theory." 

"It's  eternal  truth." 

"  There 's  truth  in  it,  but  it  is  n't  eternal  truth." 

"It's  Bible." 

"  Part,  and  part  Milton  and  Edwards,  and  part  Mr.  Avery." 

Harry  and  I  were  like  adopted  sons  in  both  families,  and  the 
two  expressed  their  minds  about  each  other  freely  before  us. 
Mr.  Avery  would  say :  "  The  root  of  the  matter  is  in  Rossiter. 
I  don't  doubt  that  he 's  a  really  regenerate  man,  but  he  has  a 
head  that  works  strangely.  We  must  wait  for  him,  he  '11  come 
along  by  and  by.". 

And  Mr.  Rossiter  would  say  of  Mr.  Avery :  "  That 's  a  growing 
man,  boys ;  he  has  n't  made  his  terminal  buds  yet.  Some  men 
make  them  quick,  like  lilac-bushes.  They  only  grow  a  little  way 
and  stop.  And  some  grow  all  the  season  through,  like  locust- 


446  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

trees.  Avery  is  one  of  that  sort :  he  '11  never  be  done  thinking 
and  growing,  particularly  if  he  has  me  to  fight  him  on  all  hands. 
He  '11  grow  into  different  opinions  on  a  good  many  subjects, 
before  he  dies." 

It  was  this  implied  liberty  of  growth  —  the  liberty  to  think  and 
to  judge  freely  upon  all  subjects  —  that  formed  the  great  distinc- 
tive educational  force  of  New  England  life,  particularly  in  this 
period  of  my  youth.  Monarchy,  aristocracy,  and  theocracy,  with 
their  peculiar  trains  of  ideas,  were  passing  away,  and  we  were 
coming  within  the  sweep  of  pure  republican  influences,  in  which 
the  individual  is  everything.  Mr.  Avery's  enthusiastic  preaching 
of  free  agency  and  personal  responsibility  was  more  than  an  indi- 
vidual impulse.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  man  whose  ideas  were  the 
reflection  of  a  period  in  American  history.  While  New  England 
theology  was  made  by  loyal  monarchists,  it  reflected  monarchical 
ideas.  The  rights  and  immunities  of  divine  sovereignty  were  its 
favorite  topics.  When,  as  now,  the  government  was  becoming 
settled  in  the  hands  of  the  common  people,  the  freedom  of  the 
individual,  his  absolute  power  of  choice,  and  the  consequent 
reasonableness  of  the  duties  he  owed  to  the  Great  Sovereign 
Authority,  began  to  be  the  favorite  subjects  of  the  pulpit. 

Mr.  Avery's  preaching  was  immensely  popular.  There  were 
in  Cloudland  only  about  half  a  dozen  families  of  any  prestige  as 
to  ancestral  standing  or  previous  wealth  and  cultivation.  The 
old  aristocratic  idea  was  represented  only  in  the  one  street  that 
went  over  Cloudland  Hill,  where  was  a  series  of  wide,  cool, 
roomy,  elm-shadowed  houses,  set  back  in  deep  door-yards,  and 
flanked  with  stately,  well-tended  gardens.  The  doctor,  the  law- 
yer, the  sheriff  of  the  county,  the  schoolmaster,  and  the  minis- 
ter, formed  here  a  sort  of  nucleus ;  but  outlying  in  all  the  hills 
and  valleys  round  were  the  mountain  and  valley  farmers.  Their 
houses  sat  on  high  hills  or  sunk  in  deep  valleys,  and  their  flam- 
ing windows  at  morning  and  evening  looked  through  the  encir- 
cling belts  of  forest  solitudes  as  if  to  say,  "  We  are  here,  and  we 
are  a  power."  These  hard-working  farmers  formed  the  body 
of  Mr.  Avery's  congregation.  Sunday  morning,  when  the  little 
bell  pealed  out  its  note  of  invitation  loud  and  long  over  the 


OUR  MINISTER  IN  CLOUDLAND.  447 

forest-feathered  hills,  it  seemed  to  evoke  a  caravan  of  thrifty, 
well-filled  farm-wagons,  which,  punctual  as  the  village-clock 
itself,  came  streaming  from  the  east  and  west,  the  north  and 
south.  Past  the  parsonage  they  streamed,  with  the  bright  cheeks 
and  fluttering  ribbons  of  the  girls,  and  the  cheery,  rubicund 
faces  of  children,  and  with  the  inevitable  yellow  dog  of  the 
family  faithfully  pattering  in  the  rear.  The  audience  that  filled 
the  rude  old  meeting-house  every  Sunday  would  have  astonished 
the  men  who  only  rode  through  the  village  of  a  week-day.  For 
this  set  of  shrewd,  toil-hardened,  vigorous,  full-blooded  republicans 
I  can  think  of  no  preaching  more  admirably  adapted  than  Mr. 
Avery's.  It  was  preaching  that  was  on  the  move,  as  their  minds 
were,  and  which  was  slowly  shaping  out  and  elaborating  those 
new  forms  of  doctrinal  statement  -  that  inevitably  grow  out  of 
new  forms  of  society.  Living,  as  these  men  did,  a  lonely, 
thoughtful,  secluded  life,  without  any  of  the  thousand  stimulants 
which  railroads  and  magazine  and  newspaper  literature  cast 
into  our  existence,  their  two  Sunday  sermons  were  the  great 
intellectual  stimulus  which  kept  their  minda  bright,  and  they 
were  listened  to  with  an  intense  interest  of  which  the  scattered 
and  diversified  state  of  modern  society  gives  few  examples. 
They  felt  the  compliment  of  being  talked  to  as  if  they  were  ca- 
pable of  understanding  the  v^fj  highest  of  subjects,  and  they 
liked  it.  Each  hard,  heroic  nature  flashed  like  a  flint  at  the 
grand  thought  of  a  free  agency  with  which  not  even  their  Maker 
would  interfere.  Their  Go,d  himself  asked  to  reign  over  them, 
not  by  force,  but  by  the  free,  voluntary  choice  of  their  own 
hearts.  "Choose  you  this  day  whom  ye  will  serve.  If  the 
Lord  be  God,  serve  him,  and  if  Baal  be  God,  serve  him,"  was 
a  grand  appeal,  fit  for  freemen. 

The  reasoning  on  moral  government,  on  the  history  of  man, 
—  the  theories  of  the  universe  past,  present,  and  to  come, — 
opened  to  these  men  a  grand  Miltonic  poem,  in  which  their  own 
otherwise  commonplace  lives  shone  with  •  a  solemn  splendor. 
Without  churches  or  cathedrals  or  physical  accessories  to  quicken 
their  poetic  nature,  their  lives  were  redeemed  only  by  this  poetry 
of  ideas. 


448  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Calvinism  is  much  berated  in  our  days,  but  let  us  look  at  the 
political,  social,  and  materialistic  progress  of  Calvinistic  countries, 
and  ask  if  the  world  is  yet  far  enough  along  to  dispense  with  it 
altogether.  Look  at  Spain  at  this  hour,  and  look  back  at  New 
England  at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  —  both  having  just  fin- 
ished a  revolution,  both  feeling  their  way  along  the  path  of  na- 
tional independence,  —  and  compare  the  Spanish  peasantry  with 
the  yeomen  of  New  England,  such  as  made  up  Mr.  Avery's  con- 
gregation ;  —  the  one  set  made  by  reasoning,  active-minded  Cal- 
vinism, the  other  by  pictures,  statues,  incense,  architecture,  and 
all  the  sentimental  paraphernalia  of  ritualism. 

If  Spain  had  had  not  a  single  cathedral,  if  her  Murillos  had 
been  all  sunk  in  the  sea,  and  if  she  had  had,  for  a  hundred  years 
past,  a  set  of  schoolmasters  and  ministers  working  together  as  I 
have  described  Mr.  Avery  and  Mr.  Rossiter  as  working,  would 
not  Spain  be  infinitely  better  off  for  this  life  at  least,  whether 
there  is  any  life  to  come  or  not  ?  This  is  a  point  that  I  humoly 
present  to  the  consideration  of  society. 

Harry  and  I  were  often  taken  by  Mr.  Avery  on  his  preach- 
ing tours  to  the  distant  farm  parishes.  There  was  a  brown 
school-house  in  this  valley,  and  a  red  school-house  in  that,  and 
another  on  the  hill,  and  so  on  for  miles  around,  and  Mr.  Avery 
kept  a  constant  stream  of  preaching  going  in  one  or  other  of 
these  every  evening.  We  liked  these  expeditions  with  him,  be- 
cause they  were  often  excursions  amid  the  wildest  and  most 
romantic  of  the  mountain  scenery,  and  we  liked  them  further- 
more because  Mr.  Avery  was  a  man  that  made  himself,  for  the 
time  being,  companionable  to  every  creature  of  human  shape 
that  was  with  him. 

With  boys  he  was  a  boy,  —  a  boy  in  the  vigor  of  his  animal  life, 
his  keen  delight  in  riding,  hunting,  fishing.  With  farmers  he 
was  a  farmer.  Brought  up  on  a  farm,  familiar  during  all  his 
early  days  with  its  wholesome  toils,  he  still  had  a  farmer's  eye 
and  a  farmer's  estimates,  and  the  working-people  felt  him  bone 
of  their  bone,  and  flesh  of  their  flesh.  It  used  to  be  a  saying 
among  them,  that,  when  Mr.  Avery  hoed  more  than  usual  in  his 
potato-field,  the  Sunday  sermon  was  sure  to  be  better. 


OUft  MINISTER  IN  CLOUDLAND.  449 

But  the  best  sport  of  all  was  when  some  of  Mr.  Avery's 
preaching  tours  would  lead  up  the  course  of  a  fine  mountain  trout- 
brook  in  the  vicinity.  Then  sometimes  Mr.  Rossiter,  Mr.  Avery, 
Harry,  and  I  would  put  our  supper  in  our  pockets,  and  start  with 
the  sun  an  hour  or  two  high,  designing  to  bring  up  at  the  red 
school-house,  as  the  weekly  notice  phrased  it,  at  "  early  candle- 
lighting." 

A  person  who  should  accidentally  meet  Mr.  Avery  on  one  of 
these  tours,  never  having  seen  him  before,  might  imagine  him  to 
be  a  man  who  had  never  thought  or  dreamed  of  anything  but 
catching  trout  all  his  days,  he  went  into  it  with  such  abandon. 
Eye,  voice,  hand,  thought,  feeling,  all  were  concentrated  on  trout. 
He  seemed  to  have  the  quick  perception,  the  rapid  hand,  and 
the  noiseless  foot  of  an  Indian,  and  the  fish  came  to  his  hook  as 
if  drawn  there  by  magic.  So  perfectly  absorbed  was  he  that 
wo  would  be  obliged  to  jog  his  memory,  and,  in  fact,  often  to 
drag  him  away  by  main  force,  when  the  hour  for  the  evening 
lecture  arrived.  Then  our  spoils  would  be  hid  away  among 
the  bushes,  and  with  wet  feet  he  would  hurry  in;  but,  once 
in,  he  was  as  completely  absorbed  in  his  work  of  saving  sinners 
as  he  had  before  been  in  his  temporal  fishery.  He  argued, 
illustrated,  stated,  guarded,  answered  objections,  looking  the 
while  from  one  hard,  keen,  shrewd  face  to  another,  to  see  if  he 
was  being  understood.  The  phase  of  Calvinism  shown  in  my 
grandmother's  blue  book  had  naturally  enough  sowed  through 
the  minds  of  a  thoughtful  community  hosts  of  doubts  and  queries. 
A  great  part  of  Mr.  Avery's  work  was  to  remove  these  doubts 
by  substituting  more  rational  statements.  It  was  essential  that 
he  should  feel  that  he  had  made  a  hit  somewhere,  said  some- 
thing that  answered  a  purpose  in  the  minds  of  his  hearers,  and 
helped  them  at  least  a  step  or  two  on  their  way. 

After  services  were  over,  I  think  of  him  and  Mr.  Rossiter 
cheerily  arguing  with  and  contradicting  each  other  a  little  beyond 
us  in  the  road,  while  Harry  and  I  compared  our  own  notes  be- 
hind. Arrived  at  the  parsonage,  there  would  be  Tina  and  Es- 
ther coming  along  the  street  to  meet  us.  Tina  full  of  careless, 
open,  gay  enthusiasm,  Esther  with  a  shy  and  wistful  welcome, 

CO 


450  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

that  said  far  less,  and  perhaps  meant  more.  Then  our  treasures 
were  displayed  and  exulted  over ;  the  supper-table  was  laid, 
and  Mr.  Avery,  Mr.  Rossiter,  and  we  boys  applied  ourselves  to 
dressing  our  fish ;  and  then  Mr.  Avery,  disdaining  Dinah,  and, 
in  fact,  all  female  supervision,  presided  himself  over  the  frying- 
pan,  and  brought  our  woodland  captives  on  the  table  in  a  state 
worthy  of  a  trout  brook.  It  should  have  comforted  the  very 
soul  of  a  trout  taken  in  our  snares  to  think  how  much  was  made 
of  him,  and  how  perfectly  Mr.  Avery  respected  his  dignity,  and 
did  him  justice  in  his  cookery. 

We  two  boys  were  in  fact  domesticated  as  sons  in  the  family. 
Although  our  boarding-place  was  with  the  master,  we  were  al- 
most as  much  with  the  minister  as  if  we  had  been  of  his  house- 
hold. "We  worked  in  his  garden,  we  came  over  and  sat  with 
Esther  and  Tina.  Our  windows  faced  their  windows,  so  that  in 
study  hours  we  could  call  to  one  another  backward  and  forward, 
and  tell  where  the  lesson  began,  and  what  the  root  of  the  verb 
was,  or  any  other  message  that  came  into  our  heads.  Some- 
times, of  a  still  summer  morning,  while  we  were  gravely  digging 
at  our  lessons,  we  would  hear  Esther  in  tones  of  expostulation 
at  some  madcap  impulse  of  Tina,  and,  looking  across,  would  see 
her  bursting  out  in  some  freak  of  droll  pantomimic  performance, 
and  then  an  immediate  whirlwind  of  gayety  would  seize  us  all. 
We  would  drop  our  dictionaries  and  grammars,  rush  together, 
and  have  a  general  outbreak  of  jollity. 

In  general,  Tina  was  a  most  praiseworthy  and  zealous  student, 
and  these  wild,  sudden  whisks  of  gayety  seemed  only  the  escape- 
valves  by  which  her  suppressed  spirits  vented  themselves ;  but, 
when  they  came,  they  were  perfectly  irresistible.  She  devoted 
herself  to  Esther  with  that  sympathetic  adaptation  which  seemed 
to  give  her  power  over  every  nature.  She  was  interested  in  her 
housekeeping,  in  all  its  departments,  as  if  it  had  been  her  own 
glory  and  pride ;  and  Tina  was  one  that  took  glory  and  pride  in 
everything  of  her  friends,  as  if  it  had  been  her  own.  Esther 
had  been  left  by  the  death  of  her  mother  only  the  year  before 
the  mistress  of  the  parsonage.  The  great  unspoken  sorrow  of 
this  loss  lay  like  a  dark  chasm  between  her  and  her  father,  each 


CUE  MINISTER  IN  CLOUDLAND.  451 

striving  to  hide  from  the  other  its  depth  and  coldness  by  a  brave 
cheerfulness. 

Esther,  strong  as  was  her  intellectual  life,  had  that  intense 
sense  of  the  worth  of  a  well-ordered  household,  and  of  the  dignity 
of  house-economies,  which  is  characteristic  of  New  England  wo- 
men. Her  conscientiousness  pervaded  every  nook  and  corner 
of  her  domestic  duties  with  a  beautiful  perfection ;  nor  did  she 
ever  feel  tempted  to  think  that  her  fine  mental  powers  were  a 
reason  why  these  homely  details  should  be  considered  a  slavery. 
Household  cares  are  a  drudgery  only  when  unpervaded  by  sen- 
timent. When  they  are  an  offering  of  love,  a  ministry  of  care 
and  devotion  to  the  beloved,  every  detail-  has  its  interest. 

There  were  certain  grand  festivals  of  a  minister's  family  which 
fill  a  housekeeper's  heart  and  hands,  and  in  which  all  of  us  made 
common  interest  with  her.  The  Association  was  a  reunion  when 
all  the  ministers  of  the  county  met  together  and  spent  a  social 
day  with  the  minister,  dining  together,  and  passing  their  time  in 
brotherly  converse,  such*  as  reading  essays,  comparing  sermons, 
taking  counsel  with  each  other  in  all  the  varied  ups  and  downs 
of  their  pastoral  life.  The  Consociation  was  another  meeting  of 
the  clergy,  but  embracing  also  with  each  minister  a  lay  delegate, 
and  thus  uniting,  not  only  the  ministry,  but  the  laymen  of  the 
county,  in  a  general  fraternal  religious  conference. 

The  first  Association  that  Esther  had  to  manage  quite  alone  as 
sole  mistress  of  the  parsonage  occurred  while  we  were  with  her. 
Like  most  solemn  festivals  of  New  England,  these  seasons  were 
announced  under  the  domestic  roof  by  great  preparatory  pound- 
ings and  choppings,  by  manufacture,  on  a  large  scale,  of  cakes, 
pies,  and  provisions  for  the  outer  man  ;  and  at  this  time  Harry, 
Tina,  and  I  devoted  all  our  energies,  and  made  ourselves  every- 
where serviceable.  We  ran  to  the  store  on  errands,  we  chopped 
mince  for  pies  with  a  most  virtuous  pertinacity,  we  cut  citron 
and  stoned  raisins,  we  helped  put  up  curtains  and  set  up  bed- 
steads. We  were  all  of  us  as  resolved  as  Esther  that  the  house- 
keeping of  the  little  parsonage  should  be  found  without  speck  or 
flaw,  and  should  reflect  glory  upon  her  youthful  sovereignty. 

Some  power  or  other  gilded  and  glorified  these  happy  days,  — 


452  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

for  happy  enough  they  were.  What  was  it  that  made  every- 
thing that  we  four  did  together  so  harmonious  and  so  charming  ? 
"  Friendship,  only  friendship,"  sang  Tina,  with  silver  tongue. 
"  Such  a  perfect  friendship,"  she  remarked,  "  was  never  known 
•  except  just  in  our  particular  case " ;  it  exceeded  all  the  clas- 
sical records,  all  the  annals,  ancient  and  modern. 

But  what  instinct  or  affinity  in  friendship  made  it  a  fact 
that  when  we  four  sat  at  table  together,  with  our  lessons  before 
us,  Harry  somehow  was  always  found  on  Esther's  side  ?  I  used 
to  notice  it  because  his  golden-brown  mat  of  curls  was  such 
a  contrast  to  the  smooth,  shining  black  satin  bands  of  her  hair  as 
they  bent  together  over  the  dictionary,  and  looked  up  innocently 
into  each  other's  eyes,  talking  of  verbs  and  adjectives  and  termi- 
nations, innocently  conjugating  "amo,  amare"  to  each  other. 
"Was  it  friendship  that  made  Esther's  dark,  clear  eyes,  instinct- 
ively look  towards  Harry  for  his  opinion,  when  we  were  reading 
our  compositions  to  one  another  ?  Was  it  friendship,  that  starry 
brightness  that  began  to  come  in  Harry's  eyes,  and  made  them 
seem  darker  and  bluer  and  deeper,  with  a  sort  of  mysterious 
meaning,  when  he  looked  at  Esther?  Was  it  friendship  that 
seemed  to  make  him  feel  taller,  stronger,  more  manly,  when 
he  thought  of  her,  and  that  always  placed  him  at  her  hand 
when  there  was  some  household  task  that  required  a  manly  height 
or  handiness  ?  It  was  Harry  and  Esther  together  who  put  up  the 
white  curtains  all  through  the  parsonage  that  spring,  that  made 
it  look  so  trim  and  comely  for  the  ministers'  meeting.  Last 
year,  Esther  said,  innocently,  she  had  no  one  to  help  her,  and 
the  work  tired  her  so.  How  happy,  how  busy,  how  bright 
they  were  as  they  measured  and  altered,  and  Harry,  in 
boundless  complacency,  went  up  and  down  at  her  orders,  and 
changed  and  altered  and  arranged,  till  her  fastidious  eye  was 
satisfied,  and  every  fold  hung  aright !  It  was  Harry  who  took 
down  and  cleansed  the  family  portraits,  and  hung  them  again, 
and  balanced  them  so  nicely ;  it  was  Harry  who  papered  over 
a  room  where  the  walls  had  been  disfigured  by  an  accident, 
and  it  was  Esther  by  him  who  cut  the  paper  and  trimmed 
the  bordering  and  executed  all  her  little  sovereignties  of  taste 


OUR  MINISTER  IN  CLOUDLAND.  453 

and  disposal  by  his  obedient  hands.  And  Tina  and  I  at  this 
time  gathered  green  boughs  and  ground-pine  for  the  vases, 
and  made  floral  decorations  without  end,  till  the  bare  little  par- 
sonage looked  like  a  woodland  bower. 

I  have  pleasant  recollections  of  those  ministers'  meetings. 
Calvinistic  doctrines,  in  their  dry,  abstract  form,  are,  I  confess, 
rather  hard ;  but  Calvinistic  ministers,  so  far  as  I  have  ever  had 
an  opportunity  to  observe,  are  invariably  a  jolly  set  of  fellows. 
In  those  early  days  the  ministry  had  not  yet  felt  the  need  of 
that  generous  decision  which  led  them  afterwards  to  forego  all 
dangerous  stimulants,  as  an  example  to  their  flock.  A  long 
green  wooden  case,  full  of  tobacco-pipes  and  a  quantity  of 
papers  of  tobacco,  used  to  be  part  of  the  hospitable  stock  pre- 
pared for  the  reception  of  the  brethren.  No  less  was  there 
a  quantity  of  spirituous  liquor  laid  in.  In  those  days' its  dispen- 
sation was  regarded  as  one  of  the  inevitable  duties  of  hospitality. 
The  New  England  ministry  of  this  period  were  men  full  of 
interest.  Each  one  was  the  intellectual  centre  of  his  own 
district,  and  supplied  around  him  the  stimulus  which  is  now 
brought  to  bear  through  a  thousand  other  sources.  It  was 
the  minister  who  overlooked  the  school,  who  put  parents  upon 
the  idea  of  giving  their  sons  liberal  educations.  In  poor  dis- 
tricts the  minister  often  practised  medicine,  and  drew  wills  and 
deeds,  thus  supplying  the  place  of  both  lawyer  and  doctor.  Apart 
from  their  doctrinal  theology,  which  was  a  constant  source  of 
intellectual  activity  to  them,  their  secluded  life  led  them  to  many 
forms  of  literary  labor. 

As  a  specimen  of  these,  it  is  recorded  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Tay- 
lor of  Westfield,  that  he  took  such  delight  in  the  writings 
of  Origen,  that,  being  unable  to  purchase  them,  he  copied  them 
in  four  quarto  volumes,  that  he  might  have  them  for  his  own 
study.  These  are  still  in  the  possession  of  his  descendants. 
Other  instances  of  literary  perseverance  and  devotion,  equally 
curious,  might  be  cited. 

The  lives  that  these  men  led  were  simple  and  tranquil.  Al- 
most all  of  them  were  practical  farmers,  preserving  about  them 
the  fresh  sympathies  and  interests  of  the  soil,  and  laboring  enough 


454  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

with  their  hands  to  keep  their  muscles  in  good  order,  and  prevent 
indigestion.  Mingling  very  little  with  the  world,  each  one  a  sort 
of  autocrat  in  his  way,  in  his  own  district,  and  with  an  idea  of 
stability  and  perpetuity  in  his  office,  which,  in  these  days,  does 
not  belong  to  the  position  of  a  minister  anywhere,  these  men 
developed  many  originalities  and  peculiarities  of  character,  to 
which  the  simple  state  of  society  then  allowed  full  scope.  They 
were  humorists,  —  like  the  mossy  old  apple-trees  which  each  of 
them  had  in  his  orchard,  bending  this  way  and  turning  that,  and 
throwing  out  their  limbs  with  quaint  twists  and  jerks,  yet 
none  the  less  acceptable,  so  long  as  the  fruit  they  bore  was 
sound  and  wholesome. 

We  have  read  of  "  Handkerchief  Moody,"  who  for  some  years 
persisted  in  always  appearing  among  men  with  his  face  covered 
with  a  handkerchief,  —  an  incident  which  Hawthorne  has  worked 
up  in  his  weird  manner  into  the  story  of  "  The  Minister  with  the 
Black  Veil." 

Father  Mills,  of  Torringford,  was  a  gigantic  man  who  used  to 
appear  in  the  pulpit  in  a  full-bottomed  white  horse-hair  wig.  On 
the  loss  of  a  beloved  wife,  he  laid  aside  his  wig  for  a  year,  and 
appeared  in  the  pulpit  with  his  head  tied  up  in  a  black  hand- 
kerchief, representing  to  the  good  housewives  of  his  parish  that, 
as  he  always  dressed  in  black,  he  could  in  no  other  way  testify 
to  his  respect  for  his  dear  wife's  memory ;  and  this  tribute  was 
accepted  by  his  parish  with  the  same  innocent  simplicity  with 
which  it  was  rendered. 

On  the  whole,  the  days  which  brought  all  the  brother  ministers 
to  the  parsonage  were  days  of  enlivenment  to  all  us  young  peo- 
ple. They  seemed  to  have  such  a  hearty  joy  in  their  meeting, 
and  to  deliver  themselves  up  to  mirth  and  good-fellowship  with 
such  a  free  and  hearty  abandon,  and  the  jokes  and  stories  which 
they  brought  with  them  were  chorused  by  such  roars  of  merri- 
ment, as  made  us  think  a  ministers'  meeting  the  most  joyous 
thing  on  earth. 

I  know  that  some  say  this  jocund  mirthfulness  indicated  a 
want  of  faith  in  the  doctrines  they  taught.  But  do  not  you  and 
I,  honest  friends,  often  profess  our  belief  in  things  which  it  would 


OUR  MINISTER  IN  CLOUDLAND.  455 

take  away  our  appetite  and  wither  our  strength  to  realize,  but 
notwithstanding  which  we  eat  and  drink  and  sleep  joyously  ? 
You  read  in  your  morning  paper  that  the  city  of  so-and-so  has 
been  half  submerged  by  an  earthquake,  and  that  after  the  earth- 
quake came  a  fire  and  burnt  the  crushed  inhabitants  alive  in  the 
ruins  of  their  dwellings.  Nay,  if  you  are  an  American,  you  may 
believe  some  such  catastrophe  to  have  happened  on  the  Erie 
Railroad  a  day  or  two  before,  and  that  men,  women,  and  children 
have  been  cooped  up  and  burnt,  in  lingering  agonies,  in  your  own 
vicinity.  And  yet,  though  you  believe  these  things,  you  laugh 
and  talk  and  are  gay,  and  plan  for  a  party  in  the  evening  and  a 
ride  on  the  same  road  the  next  week. 

No ;  man  was  mercifully  made  with  the  power  of  ignoring 
what  he  believes.  It  is  all  that  makes  existence  in  a  life  like 
this  tolerable.  And  our  ministers,  conscious  of  doing  the  very 
best  they  can  to  keep  the  world  straight,  must  be  allowed  their 
laugh  and  joke,  sin  and  Satan  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 

There  was  only  one  brother,  in  the  whole  confraternity  that 
used  to  meet  at  Mr.  Avery's,  who  was  not  a  married  man ;  and 
he,  in  spite  of  all  the  snares  and  temptations  which  must  beset  a 
minister  who  guides  a  female  flock  of  parishioners,  had  come  to 
the  afternoon  of  life  in  the  state  of  bachelorhood.  But  O  the 
jokes  and  witticisms  which  'always  set  the  room  in  a  roar  at  his 
expense !  It  was  a  subject  that  never  wearied  or  grew  old.  To 
clap  Brother  Boardman  on  the  back  and  inquire  for  Mrs.  Board- 
man, —  to  joke  him  about  some  suitable  widow,' or  bright-eyed 
young  lamb  of  his  flock,  at  each  ministers'  meeting,  —  was  a  pro- 
vocative of  mirth  ever  fresh  and  ever  young.  But  the  undaunted 
old  bachelor  was  always  a  match  for  these  attacks,  and  had  his 
rejoinder  ready  to  fling  back  into  the  camp  of  the  married  men. 
He  was  a  model  of  gallant  devotion  to  womanhood  in  the 
abstract,  and  seemed  loath  to  give  up  to  one  what  was  meant 
for  womankind.  So,  the  last  that  I  ever  heard  of  him,  he  was 
still  unmarried,  —  a  most  unheard-of  thing  for  a  New  England 
parson. 

Mr.  Avery  was  a  leader  among  the  clergy  of  his  State.  His 
zeal,  enthusiasm,  eloquence,  and  doctrinal  vigor,  added  to  a 


456  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

capacity  for  forming  an  indefinite  number  of  personal  friendships, 
made  him  a  sort  of  chief  among  them. 

What  joyous  hours  they  spent  together  in  the  ins  and  the 
outs,  the  highways  and  by-ways,  of  metaphysics  and  theology ! 
Harry  and  Esther  and  Tina  and  I  learned  them  all.  "We 
knew  all  about  the  Arminians  and  Pelagians  and  the  Tasters 
and  the  Exercisers,  and  made  a  deal  of  fun  with  each  other 
over  it  in  pur  private  hours.  We  knew  precisely  every  shade 
of  difference  between  tweedle;dum  and  tweedle-dee  which  the 
different  metaphysicians  had  invented,  and  tossed  our  knowl- 
edge joyously  back  and  forward  at  one  another  in  our  gayer 
hours,  just  as  the  old  ministers  did,  when  they  smoked  and 
argued  in  the  great  parsonage  dining-room.  Everything  is 
joyful  that  is  learned  by  two  young  men  in  company  with  two 
young  women  with  whom  they  are  secretly  in  love.  Mathemat- 
ics, metaphysics,  or  no  matter  what  of  dry  and  desolate,  buds  and 
blossoms  as  the  rose  under  such  circumstances. 

Did  you  ever  go  out  in  the  misty  gray  of  morning  dawn,  when 
the  stars  had  not  yet  shut  their  eyes,  and  still  there  were  rosy 
bands  lying  across  the  east  ?  And  then  have  you  watched  a  trel- 
lis of  morning-glories,  with  all  the  buds  asleep,  but  ready  in  one 
hour  to  waken  ?  The  first  kiss  of  sunlight  and  they  will  be  open  ! 
That  was  just  where  we  were. 


THE  EEVIVAL  OF  EELIGION.  457 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

THE    REVIVAL     OF    RELIGION. 

NO  New  England  boy  or  girl  comes  to  maturity  without  a  full 
understanding  of  what  is  meant  by  the  term  at  the  head  of 
this  chapter. 

Religion  was,  perhaps,  never  so  much  the  governing  idea  in 
any  Commonwealth  before.  Nowhere  has  there  been  a  people, 
the  mass  of  whom  acted  more  uniformly  on  considerations  drawn 
from  the  unseen  and  future  life  ;  yet  nowhere  a  people  who  paid 
a  more  earnest  attention  to  the  life  that  is  seen  and  temporal. 

The  New  England  colonies  were,  in  the  first  instance,  the  out- 
growth of  a  religious  enthusiasm.  Right  alongside  of  them,  at 
the  same  period  of  time,  other  colonies  were  founded  from  a  re- 
ligious enthusiasm  quite  as  intense  and  sincere.  The  French 
missionary  settlers  in  Canada  had  a  grandeur  of  self-sacrifice,  an 
intensity  of  religious  devotion,  which  would  almost  throw  in  the 
shade  that  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers ;  and  the  sole  reason  why  one 
set  of  colonists  proved  the  seed  of  a  great  nation,  and  the  other 
attained  so  very  limited  success,  is  the  difference  between  the 
religions  taught  by  the  two. 

The  one  was  the  religion  of  asceticism,  in  view  of  which  con- 
tempt of  the  body  and  of  material  good  was  taught  as  a  virtue, 
and  its  teachers  were  men  and  women  to  whom  marriage  and  its 
earthly  relations  were  forbidden.  The  other  was  the  spirit  of  the 
Old  Testament,  in  which  material  prosperity  is  always  spoken  of 
as  the  lawful  reward  of  piety,  in  which  marriage  is  an  honor,  and 
a  numerous  posterity  a  thing  to  be  desired.  Our  forefathers 
were,  in  many  essential  respects,  Jews  in  their  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings with  regard  to  this  life,  but  they  superadded  to  this  broad 
physical  basis  the  intense  spiritualism  of  the  New  Testament. 
Hence  came  a  peculiar  race  of  men,  uniting  the  utmost  ex- 
tremes of  the  material  and  the  spiritual. 


458  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Dr.  Franklin  represents  that  outgrowth  of  the  New  England 
mind  which  moves  in  the  material  alone,  and  scarcely  ever  rises 
to  the  spiritual.  President  Edwards  represents  the  mind  so 
risen  to  the  spiritual  as  scarcely  to  touch  the  material.  Put 
these  two  together,  and  you  have  the  average  New  England 
character,  —  that  land  in  which  every  ism  of  social  or  religious 
life  has  had  its  origin,  —  that  land  whose  hills  and  valleys  arc  one 
blaze  and  buzz  of  material  and  manufacturing  production. 

A  revival  of  religion  in  New  England  meant  a  time  when  that 
deep  spiritual  undercurrent  of  thought  and  emotion  with  regard 
to  the  future  life,  which  was  always  flowing  quietly  under  its 
intense  material  industries,  exhaled  and  steamed  up  into  an  at- 
mosphere which  pervaded  all  things,  and  made  itself  for  a  few 
weeks  the  only  thought  of  every  person  in  some  town  or  village 
or  city.  It  was  the  always-existing  spiritual  becoming  visible 
and  tangible. 

Such  periods  would  come  in  the  labors  of  ministers  like  Mr. 
Avery.  When  a  man  of  powerful  mind  and  shrewd  tact  and  great 
natural  eloquence  lives  among  a  people  already  thoughtfully  pre- 
disposed, for  no  other  purpose  than  to  stir  them  up  to  the  care  of 
their  souls,  it  is  evident  that  there  will  come  times  when  the  re- 
sults of  all  his  care  and  seeking,  his  public  ministrations,  his  pri- 
vate conversations  with  individuals,  will  come  out  in  some  marked 
social  form  ;  and  such  a  period  in  New  England  is  called  a  revival 
of  religion. 

There  were  three  or  four  weeks  in  the  autumn  of  the  first 
year  that  we  spent  in  Cloudland,  in  which  there  was  pervading 
the  town  a  sort  of  subdued  hush  of  emotions,  —  a  quiet  sense  of 
something  like  a  spiritual  presence  brooding  through  the  mild 
autumn  air.  This  was  accompanied  by  a  general  inclination  to 
attend  religious  services,  and  to  converse  on  religious  subject?. 
It  pervaded  the  school ;  it  was  to  be  heard  at  the  store.  Every 
kind  of  individual  talked  on  and  about  religion  in  his  own  char- 
acteristic way,  and  in  a  small  mountain  town  like  Cloudland 
everybody's  characteristic  way  is  known  to  every  one  else. 

Ezekiel  Scranton,  the  atheist  of  the  parish,  haunted  the  store 
where  the  farmers  tied  up  their  wagons  when  they  brought  their 


THE  REVIVAL   OF  RELIGION.  459 

produce,  find  held,  after  his  way,  excited  theological  arguments 
with  Deacon  Phineas  Simons,  who  kept  the  store,  —  arguments 
to  which  the  academy  boys  sometimes  listened,  and  of  which  they 
brought  astounding  reports  to  the  school-room. 

Tina,  who  was  so  intensely  sympathetic  with  all  social  influ- 
ences that  she  scarcely  seemed  to  have  an  individuality  of  her 
own,  was  now  glowing  like  a  luminous  cloud  with  religious 
zeal. 

"  I  could  convert  that  man,"  she  said ;  "  I  know  I  could !  I 
wonder  Mr.  Avery  has  n't  converted  him  long  ago ! " 

At  this  time,  Mr.  Avery,  who  had  always  kept  a  watchful  eye 
upon  us,  had  a  special  conversation  with  Harry  and  myself,  the 
object  of  which  was  to  place  us  right  in  our  great  foundation  rela- 
tions. Mr.  Avery  stood  upon  the  basis  that  most  good  New  Eng- 
land men,  since  Jonathan  Edwards,  have  adopted,  and  regarded  all 
young  people,  as  a  matter  of  course,  out  of  the  fold  of  the  Church, 
and  devoid  of  anything  truly  acceptable  to  God,  until  they  had 
passed  through  a  mental  process  designated,  in  well-known  lan- 
guage, as  conviction  and  conversion. 

He  began  to  address  Harry,  therefore,  upon  this  supposition. 
I  well  remember  the  conversation. 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  "  is  it  not  time  for  you  to  think  seriously 
of  giving  your  heart  to  God  ?  " 

"  I  have  given  my  heart  to  God,"  replied  Harry,  calmly. 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  Mr.  Avery,  with  surprise  ;  "  when  did  that 
take  place  ?  " 

"  I  have  always  done  it." 

Mr.  Avery  looked  at  him  with  a  gentle  surprise. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  my  son,  that  you  have  always  loved 
God?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Harry,  quietly. 

Mr.  Avery  felt  entirely  incredulous,  and  supposed  that  this 
must  be  one  of  those  specious  forms  of  natural  piety  spoken  of 
depreciatingly  by  Jonathan  Edwards,  who  relates  in  his  own 
memoirs  similar  exercises  of  early  'devotion  as  the  mere  fruits 
of  the  ungrafted  natural  heart.  Mr.  Avery,  therefore,  proceeded 
to  put  many  theological  questions  to  Harry  on  the  nature  of  sin 


460  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

and  holiness,  on  the  difference  between  manly,  natural  affections 
and  emotions,  and  those  excited  by  the  supernatural  movement 
of  a  divine  power  on  the  soul,  —  the  good  man  begging  him  to 
remember  the  danger  of  self-deception,  saying  that  nothing  was 
more  common  than  for  young  people  to  mistake  the  transient 
movements  of  mere  natural  emotions  for  real  religion. 

I  observed  that  Harry,  after  a  few  moments,  became  violently 
agitated.  Two  large  blue  veins  upon  his  forehead  swelled  out,  his 
eyes  had  that  peculiar  flash  and  fire  that  they  had  at  rare  inter- 
vals, when  some  thought  penetrated  through  the  usual  gentle 
quietude  of  his  surface  life  to  its  deepest  internal  recesses.  He 
rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  and  finally  spoke  in  a 
thick,  husky  voice,  as  one  who  pants  with  emotion.  He  was  one 
of  the  most  reserved  human  beings  I  have  ever  known.  There 
was  a  region  of  emotion  deep  within  him,  which  it  was  almost 
like  death  to  him  to  express.  There  is  something  piteous  and 
even  fearful  in  the  convulsions  by  which  such  natures  disclose 
what  is  nearest  to  their  hearts. 

"  Mr.  Avery,"  he  said,  "  I  have  heard  your  preaching  ever 
since  I  have  been  here,  and  thought  of  it  all.  It  has  done  me 
good,  because  it  has  made  me  think  deeply.  It  is  right  and 
proper  that  our  minds  should  be  forced  to  think  on  all  these  sub- 
jects ;  but  I  have  not  thought,  and  cannot  think,  exactly  like  you, 
nor  exactly  like  any  one  that  I  know  of.  I  must  make  up  my 
opinions  for  myself.  I  suppose  I  am  peculiar,  but  I  have  been 
brought  up  peculiarly.  My  lot  in  life  has  been  very  different 
from  that  of  ordinary  boys.  The  first  ten  years  of  my  life,  all 
that  I  can  remember  is  the  constant  fear  and  pain  and  distress 
and  mortification  and  want  through  which  my  mother  and  I 
passed  together,  —  she  a  stranger  in  this  strange  land,  —  her  hus- 
band and  my  father  worse  than  nothing  to  us,  oftentimes  our 
greatest  terror.  We  should  both  of  us  have  died,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  one  thing :  she  believed  that  her  Saviour  loved  her,  and 
loved  us  all.  She  told  me  that  these  sorrows  were  from  him,  — 
that  he  permitted  them  because  he  loved  us,  —  that  they  would  be 
for  good  in  the  end.  She  died  at  last  alone  and  utterly  forsaken 
by  everybody  but  her  Saviour,  and  yet  her  death  was  blessed.  I 


THE  REVIVAL   OF  RELIGION.  461 

saw  it  in  her  eyes,  and  she  left  it  as  her  last  message  to  me, 
whatever  happened  to  me,  never  to  doubt  God's  love,  —  in  all  my 
life  to  trust  him,  to  seek  his  counsel  in  all  things,  and  to  believe 
that  all  that  happened  to  me  was  ordered  by  him.  This  was  and 
is  my  religion ;  and,  after  all  that  I  have  heard,  I  can  have  no 
other.  I  do  love  God  because  he  is  good,  and  because  he  has 
been  good  to  me.  I  believe  that  Jesus  Christ  is  God,  and  I  wor- 
ship God  always  through  him,  and  I  leave  everything  for  myself, 
for  life  and  death  are  in  his  hands.  I  know  that  I  am  not  very 
good.  I  know,  as  you  say,  I  am  liable  to  make  mistakes,  and  to 
deceive  myself  in  a  thousand  ways ;  but  He  knows  all  -things, 
and  he  can  and  will  teach  me ;  he  will  not  let  me  lose  myself,  I 
feel  sure." 

"  My  son,"  said  Mr.  Avery,  "  you  are  blessed.  I  thank  God 
with  all  my  heart  for  you.  Go  on,  and  God  be  with  you  ! " 

It  is  to  be  seen  that  Mr.  Avery  was  a  man  who  always  cor- 
rected theory  by  common  sense.  When  he  perceived  that  a 
child  could  be  trained  up  a  Christian,  and  grow  into  the  love 
of  a  Heavenly  Father  as  he  grows  into  the  love  of  an  earthly 
one,  by  a  daily  and  hourly  experience  of  goodness,  he  yielded 
to  the  perceptions  of  his  mind  in  that  particular  case. 

Of  course  our  little  circle  of  four  had,  at  this  time,  deep  com- 
munings.  Tina  was  buoyant  and  joyous,  full  of  poetic  images, 
delighted  with  the  news  of  every  conversion,  and  taking  such  an 
interest  in  Mr.  Avery's  preaching  that  she  several  times  sug- 
gested to  him  capital  subjects  for  sermons.  She  walked  up  to 
Ezekiel  Scranton's,  one  afternoon,  for  no  other  object  than  to  con- 
vert him  from  his  atheism,  and  succeeded  so  far  as  to  exact  a 
promise  from  him  that  he  would  attend  all  Mr.  Avery's  meetings 
for  a  fortnight.  Ezekiel  was  one  of  the  converts  of  that  re- 
vival, and  Harry  and  I,  of  course,  ascribed  it  largely  to  Tina's 
influence. 

A  rough  old  New  England  farmer,  living  on  the  windy  side  of 
a  high  hill,  subsisting  largely  on  codfish  and  hard  cider,  does  not 
often  win  the  flattering  attention  of  any  little  specimen  of  hu- 
manity like  Tina ;  and  therefore  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  the  results  of  her  missionary  zeal  appeared  to  his  mind  some- 


462  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

tiling  like  that  recorded  in  the  New  Testament,  where  "  an  angel 
went  down  at  a  certain  season  and  troubled  the  waters." 

But,  while  Tina  was  thus  buoyant  and  joyous,  Esther  seemed 
to  sink  into  the  very  depths  of  despondency.  Hers,  as  I  have 
already  intimated,  was  one  of  those  delicate  and  sensitive  natures, 
on  which  the  moral  excitements  of  New  England  acted  all  the  while 
with  too  much  power.  The  work  and  care  of  a  faithful  pastor  are 
always  complicated  by  the  fact  that  those  truths,  and  modes  of 
presenting  truths,  which  are  only  just  sufficient  to  arouse  the  at- 
tention of  certain  classes  of  hearers,  and  to  prevent  their  sinking 
into  apathetic  materialism,  are  altogether  too  stimulating  and 
exciting  for  others,  of  a  more  delicate  structure. 

Esther  Avery  was  one  of  those  persons  for  whom  the  peculiar 
theory  of  religious  training  which  prevailed  in- New  England 
at  this  period,  however  invigorating  to  the  intellect  of  the 
masses,  might  be  considered  as  a  personal  misfortune.  Had  she 
been  educated  in  the  tender  and  paternal  manner  recommended 
by  the  Cambridge  platform,  and  practised  among  the  earlier 
puritans,  recognized  from  infancy  as  a  member  of  Christ's 
Church,  and  in  tender  covenant  relations  with  him,  her  whole 
being  would  have  responded  to  such  an  appeal ;  her  strongest 
leading  faculties  would  have  engaged  her  to  fulfil,  in  the  most 
perfect  manner,  the  sacred  duties  growing  out  of  that  relation, 
and  her  course  into  the  full  communion  of  the  Church  would  have 
been  gentle  and  insensible  as  a  flowing  river. 

"  'T  is  a  tyranny,"  says  old  Dr.  Cotton  Mather,  "  to  impose 
upon  every  man  a  record  of  the  precise  time  and  way  of  their 
conversion  to  God.  Few  that  have  been  restrained  by  a  religious 
education  can  give  such  an  one." 

Esther,  however,  had  been  trained  to  expect  a  marked  and 
decided  period  of  conversion,  —  a  change  that  could  be  described 
in  the  same  language  in  which  Paul  described  the  conversion  of 
the  heathen  at  dissolute  Corinth  and  Ephesus.  She  was  told, 
as  early  as  she  was  capable  of  understanding  language,  that  she 
was  by  nature  in  a  state  of  alienation  from  God,  in  which  every 
thought  of  her  heart  and  action  of  her  life  was  evil,  and  evil 
only ;  and  continually  that  she  was  entirely  destitute  of  holiness, 


THE  REVIVAL   OF  RELIGION.  463 

and  exposed  momently  to  the  wrath  of  God  ;  and  that  it  was  her 
immediate  duty  to  escape  from  this  state  by  an  act  of  penitence 
for  sin  and  supreme  love  to  God. 

The  effort  to  bring  about  in  her  heart  that  state  of  emotion 
was  during  all  her  youth  a  failure.  She  was  by  constitution  del- 
icately, intensely  self-analytic,  and  her  analysis  was  guided  by 
the  most  exacting  moral  ideality.  Every  hopeful  emotion  of  her 
higher  nature,  as  it  rose,  was  dissolved  in  this  keen  analysis,  as 
diamond  and  pearls  disappeared  in  the  smelting  furnaces  of  the 
old  alchemists.  We  all  know  that  self-scrutiny  is  the  death  of 
emotion,  and  that  the  analytic,  self-inspective  habit  is  its  sure 
preventive.  Had  Esther  applied  to  her  feelings  for  her  own 
beloved  father  the  same  tests  by  which  she  tried  every  rising 
emotion  of  love  to  the  Divine  Being,  the  result  would  have 
been  precisely  the  same. 

Esther  was  now  nineteen  years  of  age ;  she  was  the  idol  of 
her  father's  heart ;  she  was  the  staff  and  stay  of  her  family ; 
she  was,  in  all  the  duties  of  life,  inspired  by  a  most  faultless 
conscientiousness.  Her  love  of  the  absolute  right  was  almost 
painful  in  its  excess  of  minuteness,  and  yet,  in  her  own  view,  in 
the  view  of  the  Church,  in  the  view  even  of  her  admiring  and 
loving  father,  she  was  no  Christian.  Perfectly  faultless  in  every 
relation  so  far  as  human  beings  could  observe,  reverent  to  God, 
submissive  to  his  will,  careful  in  all  outward  religious  obser- 
vances, yet  wanting  in  a  certain  emotional  experience,  she 
judged  herself  to  be,  and  was  judged  to  be  by  the  theology 
which  her  father  taught,  utterly  devoid  of  virtue  or  moral  excel- 
lence of  any  kind  in  the  sight  of  God.  The  theology  of  the 
times  also  taught  her  that  the  act  of  grace^ which  should  put  an 
end  to  this  state,  and  place  her  in  the  relation  of  a  forgiven  child 
with  her  Heavenly  Father,  was  a  voluntary  one,  momently  in  her 
power,  and  that  nothing  but  her  own  persistent  refusal  prevented 
her  performing  it ;  yet  taught  at  the  same  time  that,  so  desperate 
was  the  obstinacy  of  the  human  heart,  no  child  of  Adam  ever 
would,  or  ever  could,  perform  it  without  a  special  interpo- 
sition of  God,  —  an  interposition  which  might  or  might  not 
come.  Thus  all  the  responsibility  and  the  guilt  rested  upon  her. 


464  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Now,  when  a  nature  intensely  conscientious  is  constantly  op- 
pressed by  a  sense  of  unperformed  duty,  that  sense  becomes  a 
gnawing  worm  at  the  very  root  of  life.  Esther  had  in  vain 
striven  to  bring  herself  into  the  required  state  of  emotion. 
Often  for  weeks  and  months  she  offered  daily,  and  many  times 
a  day,  prayers  which  brought  no  brightness  and  no  relief,  and 
read  conscientiously  that  Bible,  all  whose  tender  words  and  com- 
forting promises  were  like  the  distant  vision  of  Eden  to  the  fallen 
exiles,  guarded  by  a  flaming  sword  which  turned  every  way. 
Mute  and  mournful  she  looked  into  the  paradise  of  peace  pos- 
sessed by  the  favored  ones  whom  God  had  chosen  to  help  through 
the  mysterious  passage,  and  asked  herself,  would  that  helping 
hand  ever  open  the  gate  to  her? 

Esther  had  passed  through  two  or  three  periods  of  revival  of 
religion,  and  seen  others  far  less  consistent  gathered  into  the 
fold  of  the  Church,  while  she  only  sunk  at  each  period  into  a  state 
of  hopeless  gloom  and  despondency  which  threatened  her  health. 
Latterly,  her  mind,  wounded  and  bruised,  had  begun  to  turn  in 
bitter  reactions.  From  such  experiences  as  hers  come  floods  of 
distracting  intellectual  "questions.  Scepticism  and  doubt  are  the 
direct  children  of  unhappiness.  If  she  had  been,  as  her  stand- 
ards stated,  born  "  utterly  indisposed,  disabled,  and  made  opposite 
to  all  good,  and  wholly  inclined  to  all  evil,"  was  not  this  an  ex- 
cuse for  sin  ?  Was  it  her  fault  that  she  was  born  so  ?  and,  if 
her  Creator  had  brought  her  into  being  in  this  state,  was  it  not 
an  act  of  simple  justice  to  restore  her  mind  to  a  normal  con- 
dition ? 

When  she  addressed  these  questions  to  her  father,  he  was 
alarmed,  and  warnejl  her  against  speculation.  Mr.  Avery  did 
not  consider  that  the  Assembly's  catechism  and  the  Cambridge 
platform  and  a  great  part  of  his  own.  preaching  were,  after  all, 
but  human  speculation,  —  the  uninspired  inferences  of  men  from 
the  Bible,  and  not  the  Bible  itself,  —  and  that  minds  once  set  going 
in  this  direction  often  cannot  help  a  third  question  after  a  second, 
any  more  than  they  can  help  breathing  ;  and  that  third  question 
may  be  one  for  which  neither  God  nor  nature  has  an  answer. 
Such  inquiries  as  Esther's  never  arose  from  reading  the  parables 


THE  REVIVAL  OF  KELIGION.  465 

t 

of  Christ,  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount:   they  are  the  legitimate 
children  of  mere  human  attempts  at  systematic  theology. 

How  to  deliver  a  soul  that  has  come  from  excessive  harass- 
ments,  introspections,  self-analysis,  into  that  morbid  state  of  half- 
sceptical  despondency,  was  a  problem  over  which  Mr.  Avery 
sighed  in  vain.  His  cheerful  hopefulness,  his  sympathetic 
vitality,  had  drawn  many  others  through  darkness  into  light, 
and  settled  them  in  cheerful  hope.  But  with  his  own  daughter 
he  felt  no  power,  —  his  heart  trembled,  —  his  hand  was  weak  as 
the  surgeon's  who  cannot  operate  when  it  is  the  life  of  his  best 
beloved  that  lies  under  his  hands. 

Esther's  deliverance  came  through  that  greatest  and  holiest  of 
all  the  natural  sacraments  and  means  of  grace,  —  LOVE. 

An  ancient  gem  has  upon  it  a  figure  of  a  Psyche  sitting  with 
bound  wings  and  blindfolded  and  weeping,  whose  bonds  are 
being  sundered  by  Love.  It  is  an  emblem  of  what  often  occurs 
in  woman's  life. 

It  has  sometimes  been  thrown  out  as  a  sneer  on  periods  of 
religious  excitement,  that  they  kindle  the  enthusiasm  of  man  and 
woman  towards  each  other  into  earthly  attachments;  but  the 
sneer  should  wither  as  something  satanic  before  the  purity  of 
love  as  it  comes  to  noble  natures.  The  man  who  has  learned 
to  think  meanly  of  that,  to  associate  it  with  vulgar  thoughts  and 
low  desires,  —  the  man  who  has  not  been  lifted  by  love  to  aspire 
after  unworldly  excellence,  to  sigh  for  unworldly  purity,  to  rev- 
erence unworldly  good,  —  has  lost  his  one  great  chance  of  regen- 
eration. 

Harry  and  Esther  had  moved  side  by  side  for  months,  drawn 
daily  to  each  other,  —  showing  each  other  their  compositions, 
studying  out  of  the  same  book,  arguing  together  in  constant 
friendly  differences,  —  and  yet  neither  of  them  exactly  conscious 
whither  they  were  tending.  A  great  social,  religious  excitement 
has  often  this  result,  that  it  throws  open  between  friends  the 
doors  of  the  inner  nature.  How  long,  how  long  we  may  live  in 
the  same  house,  sit  at  the  same  table,  hold  daily  converse  with 
friends  to  whom  and  by  whom  these  inner  doors  are  closed! 
We  cannot  even  tell  whether  we  should  love  them  more  or  less 
20*  »i> 


466  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

if  they  were  open,  —  they  are  a  mystery.  But  a  great,  pure, 
pervading,  social  excitement  breaks  like  some  early  spring  day 
around  us ;  the  sun  shines,  the  birds  sing ;  and  forthwith  open 
fly  all  the  doors  and  windows,  and  let  in  the  sunshine  and  the 
breeze  and  the  bird-song ! 

In  such  an  hour  Esther  saw  that  she  was  beloved  !  —  beloved 
by  a  poet  soul,  —  one  of  that  rare  order  to  whom  the  love  of 
woman  is  a  religion !  —  a  baptism !  —  a  consecration ! 

Her  life,  hitherto  so  chill  and  colorless,  so  imprisoned  and 
bound  in  the  chains  of  mere  and  cold  intellect,  awoke  with  a 
sudden  thrill  of  consciousness  to  a  new  and  passionate  life.  She 
was  as  changed  as  the  poor  and  silent  Jungfrau  of  the  Swiss 
mountains,  when  the  gray  and  ghostly  cold  of  the  night  bursts  into 
rosy  light,  as  the  morning  sunbeams  rise  upon  it.  The  most 
auspicious  and  beautiful  of  all  phenomena  that  ever  diversify 
this  weary  life  is  that  wonderful  moment  in  which  two  souls, 
who  hitherto  have  not  known  each  other,  suddenly,  by  the  lift- 
ing of  a  veil  or  the  falling  of  a  barrier,  become  in  one  moment 
and  forever  after  one.  Henceforth  each  soul  has  in  itself  the 
double  riches  of  the  other.  Each  weakness  is  made  strong  by 
some  corresponding  strength  in  the  other ;  for  the  truest  union  is 
where  each  soul  has  precisely  the  faculty  which  the  other  needs. 

Harry  was  by  nature  and  habit  exactly  the  reverse  of  Esther. 
His  conclusions  were  all  intuitions.  His  religion  was  an  emana- 
tion from  the  heart,  a  child  of  personal  experience,  and  not  a  for- 
mula of  the  head.  In  him  was  seen  the  beginning  of  that  great 
reaction  which  took  place  largely  in  the  young  mind  of  New 
England  against  the  tyranny  of  mere  logical  methods  as  applied 
to  the  ascertaining  of  moral  truths. 

The  hour  of  full  heart  union  that  made  them  one  placed  her 
mind  under  the  control  of  his.  His  simple  faith  in  God's  love 
was  an  antidote  to  her  despondent  fears.  His  mind  bore  hers 
along  on  its  current.  His  imagination  awakened  hers.  She  was 
like  one  carried  away  by  a  winged  spirit,  lifted  up  and  borne 
heavenward  by  his  faith  and  love.  She  was  a  transfigured  be- 
ing. An  atmosphere  of  joy  brightened  and  breathed  around  her  j 
her  eyes  had  a  mysterious  depth,  her  cheeks  a  fluttering  color. 


THE  REVIVAL   OF   RELIGION.  467 

The  winter  was  over  and  past  for  her,  and  the  time  of  the  sing- 
ing of  birds  had  come. 

Mr.  A  very  was  in  raptures.  The  long  agony  was  past.  He 
had  gained  a  daughter  and  a  son,  and  he  was  too  joyful,  too  will- 
ing to  believe,  to  be  analytic  or  critical.  Long  had  he  secretly 
hoped  that  such  faultless  consistency,  such  strict  attention  to 
duty,  might  perhaps  indicate  a  secret  work  of  divine  grace,  which 
would  spring  into  joy  if  only  recognized  and  believed  in.  But 
now,  when  the  dove  that  had  long  wandered  actually  bent  her 
white  wings  at  the  window  of  the  ark,  he  stretched  forth  his 
hand  and  drew  her  in  with  a  trembling  eagerness. 


468  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

AFTER    THE   REVIVAL. 

BUT  the  revival  could  not  always  last.  The  briefness  of  these 
periods,  and  the  inevitable  gravitation  of  everybody  back 
to  the  things  of  earth,  has  sometimes  been  mentioned  with  a 
sneer. 

"  Where 's  your  revival  now  ?  " 

The  deacon  whose  face  was  so  radiant  as  he  talked  of  the  love 
of  Christ  now  sits  with  the  same  face  drawn  into  knots  and 
puckers  over  his  account-book  ;  and  he  thinks  the  money  for  the 
mortgage  is  due,  and  the  avails  for  the  little  country  store  are 
small ;  and  somehow  a  great  family  of  boys  and  girls  eat  up  and 
wear  out ;  and  the  love  of  Christ  seems  a  great  way  off,  and  the 
trouble  about  the  mortgage  very  close  at  hand  ;  and  so  the  dea- 
con is  cross,  and  the  world  has  its  ready  sneer  for  the  poor  man. 
"  He  can  talk  about  the  love  of  Christ,  but  he  's  a  terrible  screw 
at  a  bargain,"  they  say.  Ah,  brother,  have  mercy !  the  world 
screws  us,  and  then  we  are  tempted  to  screw  the  world.  The 
soil  is  hard,  the  climate  cold,  labor  incessant,  little  to  come  of 
it,  and  can  you  sneer  that  a  poor  soul  has,  for  a  brief  season, 
forgotten  all  this  and  risen  out  of  his  body  and  above  his  cares, 
and  been  for  a  little  while  a  glorified  deacon  instead  of  a  poor, 
haggling,  country  store-keeper  ? 

Plato  says  that  we  all  once  had  wings,  and  that  they  still  tend  to 
grow  out  in  us,  and  that  our  burnings  and  aspirations  for  higher 
things  are  like  the  teething  pangs  of  children.  We  are  trying 
to  cut  our  wings.  Let.  us  not  despise  these  teething  seasons. 
Though  the  wings  do  not  become  apparent,  they  may  be  starting 
under  many  a  rough  coat,  and  on  many  a  clumsy  pair  of  shoul- 
ders. 

But  in  our  little  town  of  Cloudland,  after  the  heavenly  breeze 
had  blown  over,  there  were  to  be  found  here  and  there  immortal 


AFTEK  THE  REVIVAL.  469 

flowers  and  leaves  from  the  tree  of  life,  which  had  blown  into 
many  a  dwelling. 

Poor  old  drunken  Culver,  who  lived  under  the  hill,  and  was 
said  to  beat  his  wife,  had  become  a  changed  man,  and  used 
to  come  out  to  weekly  prayer-meetings.  Some  tough  old  family 
quarrels,  such  as  follow  the  settlement  of  wills  in  a  poor  country, 
had  at  last  been  brought  to  an  end,  and  brother  had  shaken  hands 
with  brother :  the  long  root  of  bitterness  had  been  pulled  up  and 
burned  on  the  altar  of  love.  It  is  true  that  nobody  had  become 
an  angel.  Poor  sharp-tongued  Miss  Krissy  Pike  still  went  on 
reporting  the  wasteful  excesses  she  had  seen  in  the  minister's 
swill-barrel.  And  some  that  were  crabbed  and  cross-grained 
before  were  so  still,  and  some,  perhaps,  were  a  little  more  snarly 
than  usual,  on  account  of  the  late  over-excitement. 

A  revival  of  religion  merely  makes  manifest  for  a  time  what 
religion  there  is  in  a  community,  but  it  does  not  exalt  men  above 
their  nature  or  above  their  times.  It  is  neither  revelation  nor 
inspiration ;  it  is  impulse.  It  gives  no  new  faculties,  and  it  goes 
at  last  into  that  general  average  of  influences  which  go  to  make 
up  the  progress  of  a  generation. 

One  terrestrial  result  of  the  revival  in  our  academy  was  that 
about  half  a  dozen  of  the  boys  fell  desperately  in  love  with  Tina. 
I  have  always  fancied  Tina  to  be  one  of  that  species  of  woman- 
kind that  used  to  be  sought  out  for  priestesses  to  the  Delphic 
oracle.  She  had  a  flame-like,  impulsive,  ethereal  temperament, 
a  capacity  for  sudden  inspirations,  in  which  she  was  carried  out 
of  herself,  and  spoke  winged  words  that  made  one  wonder  whence 
they  came.  Her  religious  zeal  had  impelled  her  to  be  the  ad- 
viser of  every  one  who  came  near  her,  and  her  sayings  were 
quoted,  and  some  of  our  shaggy,  rough-coated  mountain  boys 
thought  that  they  had  never  had  an  idea  of  the  beauty  of  holiness 
before.  Poor  boys !  they  were  so  sacredly  simple  about  it.  And 
Tina  came  to  me  with  wide  brown  eyes  that  sparkled  like  a 
cairngorm-stone,  and  told  me  that  she  believed  she  had  found 
what  her  peculiar  calling  was :  it  was  to  influence  young  men  in 
religion  !  She  cited,  with  enthusiasm,  the  wonderful  results  she 
liad  been  able  to  produce,  the  sceptical  doubts  she  had  removed, 


470  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

the  conceptions  of  heavenly  things  that  she  had  been  able  to  pour 
into  their  souls. 

The  divine  priestess  and  I  had  a  grand  quarrel  one  day,  be- 
cause I  insisted  upon  it  that  these  religious  ministrations  on  the 
part  of  a  beautiful  young  girl  to  those  of  the  opposite  sex  would 
assuredly  end  in  declarations  of  love  and  hopes  of  marriage. 

Girls  like  Tina  are  often  censured  as  flirts,  —  most  unjustly  so, 
too.  Their  unawakened  nature  gives  them  no  power  of  perceiving 
what  must  be  the  full  extent  of  their  influence  over  the  opposite 
sex.  Tina  was  warmly  social ;  she  was  enthusiastic  and  self- 
confident,  and  had  precisely  that  spirit  which  should  fit  "a 
woman  to  be  priestess  or  prophetess,  to  inspire  and  to  lead. 
She  had  a  magnetic  fervor  of  nature,  an  attractive  force  that 
warmed  in  her  cheeks  and  sparkled  in  her  eyes,  and  seemed  to 
make  summer  around  her.  She  excited  the  higher  faculties, 
—  poetry,  ideality,  blissful  dreams  seemed  to  be  her  atmos- 
phere,—  and  she  had  a  power  of  quick  sympathy,  of  genuine, 
spontaneous  outburst,  that  gave  to  her  looks  and  words  almost 
the  value  of  a  caress,  so  that  she  was  an  unconscious  de- 
ceiver, and  seemed  always  to  say  more  for  the  individual  than 
&li&  really  meant.  All  men  are  lovers  of  sunshine  and  spring 
gales,  but  they  are  no  one's  in  particular ;  and  he  who  seeks 
to  hold  them  to  one  heart  finds  his  mistake.  Like  all  others 
who  have  a  given  faculty,  Tina  loved  its  exercise,  —  she  loved 
to  influence,  loved  to  feel  her  power,  alike,  over  man  and  woman. 
But  who  does  not  know  that  the  power  of  the  sibyl  is  doubled 
by  the  opposition  of  sex?  That  which  is  only  acquiescence  in  a 
woman  friend  becomes  devotion  in  a  man.  That  which  is  ad- 
miration from  a  woman  becomes  adoration  in  a  man.  And  of  all 
kinds  of  power  which  can  be  possessed  by  man  or  woman,  there  is 
none  which  I  think  so  absolutely  intoxicating  as  this  of  per- 
sonal fascination.  You  may  as  well  blame  a  bird  for  wanting  to 
soar  and  sing  as  blame  such  women  for  the  instinctive  pleasure 
they  feel  in  their  peculiar  kind  of  empire.  Yet,  in  simple  good 
faith,  Tina  did  not  want  her  friends  of  the  other  sex  to  become 
lovers.  She  was  willing  enough  that  they  should  devote  them- 
selves, under  all  sorts  of  illusive  names  of  brother  and  friend  and 


AFTEE  THE  EEVIVAL.  471 

what-not,  but  when  they  proceeded  to  ask  her  for  herself  there 
was  an  instant  revulsion,  as  when  some  person  has  unguardedly 
touched  a  strong  electric  circle.  The  first  breath  of  passion  re- 
pelled her ;  the  friend  that  had  been  so  agreeable  the  hour  before 
was  unendurable.  Over  and  over  again  have  I  seen  her  go  the 
same  illusive  round,  always  sure  that  in  this  instance  it  was 
understood  that  it  was  to  be  friendship,  and  only  friendship, 
or  brotherly  or  Christian  love,  till  the  hour  came  for  the  electric 
revulsion,  and  the  friend  was  lost. 

Tina  had  not  learned  the  modern  way  of  girls,  who  count  their 
lovers  and  offers  as  an  Indian  does  his  scalps,  and  parade  the  num- 
ber of  their  victims  before  their  acquaintances.  Every  incident 
of  this  kind  struck  her  as  a  catastrophe  ;  and,  as  Esther,  Harry, 
and  I  were  always  warning  her,  she  would  come  to  us  like  a 
guilty  child,  and  seek  to  extenuate  her  offence.  I  think  the  girl 
was  sincere  in  the  wish  she  often  uttered,  that  she  could  be  a  boy, 
and  be  loved  as  a  comrade  and  friend  only.  "  Why  must,  why 
would,  they  always  persist  in  falling  into  this  tiresome  result  ?  " 
"  O  Horace  ! "  she  would  say  to  me,  "  if  I  were  only  Tom  Perci- 
val,  I  should  be  perfectly  happy !  but  it  is  so  stupid  to  be  a  girl ! " 

In  my  own  secret  soul  I  had  no  kind  of  wish  that  she  should  be 
Tom  Percival,  but  I  did  not  tell  her  so.  No,  I  was  too  wise  for  that. 
I  knew  that  my  only  chance  of  keeping  my  position  as  father- 
confessor  to  this  elastic  young  penitent  consisted  in  a  judicious 
suppression  of  all  peculiar  claims  or  hopes  on  my  part,  and  I  was 
often  praised  and  encouraged  for  this  exemplary  conduct,  and 
the  question  pathetically  put  to  me,  "  Why  could  n't  the  others  do 
as  I  did  ?  "  O  Tina,  Tina !  did  your  brown  eyes  see,  and  your 
quick  senses  divine,  that  there  was  something  in  me  which  you 
dreaded  to  awaken,  and  feared  to  meet  ? 

There  are  some  men  who  have  a  faculty  of  making  themselves 
the  confidants  of  women.  Perhaps  because  they  have  a  certain 
amount  of  the  feminine  element  in  their  own  composition.  They 
seem  to  be  able  to  sympathize  with  them  on  their  feminine  side, 
and  are  capable  of  running  far  in  a  friendship  without  running 
fatally  into  love. 

I  think  I  had  this  power,  and  on  it  I  founded  my  hopes  in  this 


472  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

regard.  I  enjoyed,  in  my  way,  almost  as  much  celebrity  in  our 
little  circle  for  advising  and  guiding  my  friends  of  the  other  sex 
as  Tina  did,  and  I  took  care  to  have  on  hand  such  a  list  of  inti- 
mates as  would  prevent  my  name  from  being  coupled  with  hers 
in  the  school  gossip. 

In  these  modern  times,  when  man's  fair  sister  is  asking  admis- 
sion at  the  doors  of  classic  halls,  where  man  has  hitherto  reigned 
in  monastic  solitude,  the  query  is  often  raised  by  our  modern 
sociologists,  Can  man  and  woman,  with  propriety,  pursue  their 
studies  together  ?  Does  the  great  mystery  of  sex,  with  its  wide 
laws  of  attraction,  and  its  strange,  blinding,  dazzling  influences, 
furnish  a  sufficient  reason  why  the  two  halves  of  creation,  made 
for  each  other,  should  be  kept  during  the  whole  course  of  educa- 
tion rigorously  apart  ?  This  question,  like  a  great  many  others, 
was  solved  without  discussion  by  the  good  sense  of  our  Puritan 
ancestors,  in  throwing  the  country  academies,  where  young  men 
were  fitted  for  college,  open  alike  to  both  sexes,  and  in  making 
the  work  of  education  of  such  dignity  in  the  eyes  of  the  com- 
munity, that  first-rate  men  were  willing  to  adopt  it  for  life.  The 
consequences  were,  that,  in  some  lonely  mountain  town,  under 
some  brilliant  schoolmaster,  young  men  and  women  actually  were 
studying  together  the  branches  usually  pursued  in  college. 

"But,"  says  the  modern  objector,  "bring  young  men  and 
young  women  together  in  these  relations,  and  there  will  be  flir- 
tations and  love  affairs." 

Even  so,  my  friend,  there  will  be.  But  flirtations  and  love 
affairs  among  a  nice  set  of  girls  and  boys,  in  a  pure  and  simple 
state  of  community,  where  love  is  never  thought  of,  except  as 
leading  to  lawful  marriage,  are  certainly  not  the  worst  things 
that  can  be  thought  of,  —  not  half  so  bad  as  the  grossness  and 
coarseness  and  roughness  and  rudeness  of  those  wholly  male 
schools  in  which  boys  fight  their  way  on  alone,  with  no  human- 
izing influences  from  the  other  sex. 

There  was,  to  be  sure,  a  great  crop  of  love  affairs,  always  green 
and  vigorous,  in  our  academy,  and  vows  of  eternal  constancy  inter- 
changed between  boys  and  girls  who  afterwards  forgot  and  out- 
grew them,  without  breaking  their  hearts  on  either  side ;  but, 


AFTER  THE  REVIVAL.  473 

for  my  own  part,  I  think  love-making  over  one's  Latin  and  Greek 
much  better  than  the  fisting  and  cuffing  and  fagging  of  English 
schools,  or  than  many  another  thing  to  which  poor,  blindly  fer- 
menting boyhood  runs  when  separated  from  home,  mother,  and 
sister,  and  confined  to  an  atmosphere  and  surroundings  sharply 
and  purely  male.  It  is  certain  that  the  companionship  of  the 
girl  improves  the  boy,  but  more  doubt  has  been  expressed 
whether  the  delicacy  of  womanhood  is  not  impaired  by  an  early 
experience  of  the  flatteries  and  gallantries  of  the  other  sex. 
But,  after  all,  it  is  no  worse  for  a  girl  to  coquette  and  flirt  in 
her  Latin  and  mathematical  class  than  to  do  it  in  the  German  or 
the  polka.  The  studies  and  drill  of  the  school  have  a  certain 
repressive  influence,  wholly  wanting  in  the  ball-room  and  under 
the  gas-light  of  fashionable  parties.  In  a  good  school,  the  standard 
of  attraction  is,  to  some  extent,  intellectual.  The  girl  is  valued 
for  something  besides  her  person  ;  her  disposition  and  character 
are  thoroughly  tested,  the  powers  of  her  mind  go  for  something, 
and,  what  is  more,  she  is  known  in  her  every-day  clothes.  On  the 
whole,  I  do  not  think  a  better  way  can  be  found  to  bring  the  two 
sexes  together,  without  that  false  glamour  which  obscures  their 
knowledge  of  each  other,  than  to  put  them  side  by  side  in  the 
daily  drill  of  a  good  literary  institution. 

Certainly,  of  all  the  days  that  I  look  back  upon,  this 
academy  life  in  Cloudland  was  the  most  perfectly  happy.  It 
was  happier  than  college  life,  because  of  the  constant  intertwin- 
ing and  companionship  with  woman,  which  gave  a  domestic  and 
family  charm  to  it.  It  was  happy  because  we  were  in  the  first 
flush  of  belief  in  ourselves,  and  in  life. 

O  that  first  belief!  those  incredible  first  visions!  when  all 
things  look  "possible,  and  one  believes  in  the  pot  of  gold  at  the  end 
of  the  rainbow,  and  sees  enchanted  palaces  in  the  sunset  clouds! 

What  faith  we  had  in  one  another,  and  how  wonderful  we  were 
in  one  another's  eyes !  Our  little  clique  of  four  was  a  sort  of  holy 
of  holies  in  our  view.  We  believed  that  we  had  secrets  of  hap- 
piness and  progress  known  only  to  ourselves.  We  had  full  faith 
in  one  another's  destiny;  we  were  all  remarkable  people,  and 
destined  to  do  great  things. 


474  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

At  the  close  of  the  revival,  we  four,  with  many  others,  joined 
Mr.  Avery's  church,  —  a  step  which  in  New  England,  at  this  time, 
meant  a  conviction  of  some  spiritual  experience  gained,  of  some 
familiar  communion  with  the  Great  Invisible.  Had  I  found  it 
then  ?  Had  I  laid  hold  of  that  invisible  hand,  and  felt  its  warmth 
and  reality  ?  Had  I  heard  the  beatings  of  a  warm  heart  under 
the  cold  exterior  of  the  regular  laws  of  nature,  and  found  a  liv- 
ing God  ?  I  thought  so.  That  hand  and  heart  were  the  hand 
and  heart  of  Jesus,  —  the  brother,  the  friend,  and  the  interpreting 
God  for  poor,  blind,  and  helpless  man. 

As  we  stood  together  before  the  pulpit,  with  about  fifty  others, 
on  that  Sunday  most  joyful  to  Mr.  Avery's  heart,  we  made  our  re- 
ligious profession  with  ardent  sincerity.  The  dear  man  found  in 
that  day  the  reward  of  all  his  sorrows,  and  the  fruit  of  all  his 
labors.  He  rejoiced  in  us  as  first  fruits  of  the  millennium,  which, 
having  already  dawned  in  his  good  honest  heart,  he  thought  could 
not  be  far  off  from  the  earth. 

Ah !  those  days  of  young  religion  were  vaguely  and  igno- 
rantly  beautiful,  like  all  the  rest  of  our  outlook  on  life.  We  were 
sincere,  and  meant  to  be  very  good  and  true  and  pure,  and  we 
knew  so  little  of  the  world  we  were  living  in !  The  village  of 
Cloudland,  without  a  pauper,  with  scarcely  an  ignorant  person  in 
it,  with  no  temptation,  no  dissipation,  no  vice,  —  what  could  we 
know  there  of  the  appalling  questions  of  real  life  ?  We  were  hid 
there  together,  as  in  the  hollow  of  God's  hand ;  and  a  very  sweet 
and  lovely  hiding-place  it  was. 

Harry  had  already  chosen  his  profession  ;  he  was  to  be  a  cler- 
gyman, and  study  with  Mr.  Avery  when  his  college  course  was 
finished.  In  those  days  the  young  aspirants  for  the  pulpit  were 
not  gathered  into  seminaries,  but  distributed  through  the  coun- 
try, studying,  writing,  and  learning  the  pastoral  work  by  sharing 
the  labors  of  older  pastors.  Life  looked,  therefore,  very  bright 
to  Harry,  for  life  was,  at  that  age,  to  live  with  Esther.  Worldly 
care  there  was  none.  Mr.  Avery  was  rich  on  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars,  and  there  were  other  places  in  the  mountains  where 
birds  sung  and  flowers  grew,  where  Esther  could  manage  another 
parsonage,  as  now  her  father's.  She  lived  in  the  world  of  taste 


AFTER  THE  REVIVAL.  475 

and  intellect  and  thought.  Her  love  of  the  beautiful  was  fed  by 
the  cheap  delights  of  nature,  and  there  was  no  onerous  burden  of 
care  in  looking  forward  to  marriage,  such  as  now  besets  a  young 
man  when  he  meditates  taking  to  himself  some  costly  piece  of 
modern  luxury,  —  some  exotic  bird,  who  must  be  fed  on  incense 
and  odors,  and  for  whom  any  number  of  gilded  cages  and  costly 
surroundings  may  be  necessary.  Marriage,  in  the  days  of  which 
I  speak,  was  a  very  simple  and  natural  affair,  and  Harry  and 
Esther  enjoyed  the  full  pleasure  of  talking  over  and  arranging 
what  their  future  home  should  be ;  and  Tina,  quite  as  interested 
as  they,  drew  wonderful  pictures  of  it,  and  tinted  them  with 
every  hue  of  the  rainbow. 

Mr.  A  very  talked  with  me  many  times  to  induce  me  to  choose 
the  same  profession.  He  was  an  enthusiast  for  it ;  it  was  to  him 
a  calling  that  eclipsed  all  others,  and  he  could  wish  the  man  he 
loved  no  greater  blessedness  than  to  make  him  a  minister. 

But  I  felt  within  myself  a  shrinking  doubt  of  my  own  ability 
to  be  the  moral  guide  of  others,  and  my  life-long  habit  of  half- 
sceptical  contemplation  made  it  so  impossible  to  believe  the  New 
England  theology  with  the  perfect,  undoubting  faith  that  Mr. 
Avery  had,  that  I  dared  not  undertake.  I  did  not  disbelieve. 
I  would  not  for  the  world  controvert ;  but  I  could  not  believe  with 
his  undoubting  enthusiasm.  His  sword  and  spear,  so  effective  in 
his  hands,  would  tremble  in  mine.  I  knew  that  Harry  would  do 
something.  He  had  a  natural  call,  a  divine  impulse,  that  led  him 
from  childhood  to  sacred  ministries  ;  and  though  he  did  not  more 
than  I  accept  the  system  of  new-.school  theology  as  complete 
truth,  yet  I  could  see  that  it  would  furnish  to  his  own  devotional 
nature  a  stock  from  which  vigorous  grafts  would  shoot  forth. 

Shall  I  say,  also,  that  my  future  was  swayed  unconsciously  by 
a  sort  of  instinctive  perception  of  what  yet  might  be  desired  by 
Tina  ?  Something  a  little  more  of  this  world  I  seemed  to  want 
to  lay  at  her  feet.  I  felt,  somehow,  that  there  was  in  her  an 
aptitude  for  the  perfume  and  brightness  and  gayeties  of  this  lower 
world.  And  as  there  must  be,  not  only  clergymen,  but  lawyers, 
and  as  men  will  pay  more  for  getting  their  own  will  than  for 
saving  their  souls,  I  dreamed  of  myself,  in  the  future,  as  a  law- 


476  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

yer,  —  of  course  a  rising  one  ;  of  course  I  should  win  laurels  at 
the  bar,  and  win  them  by  honorable  means.  I  would  do  it ;  and 
Tina  should  be  mistress  of  a  fine,  antique  house  in  Boston,  like 
the  Kitterys',  with  fair,  large  gardens  and  pleasant  prospects,  and 
she  should  glitter  and  burn  and  twinkle  like  a  gem,  in  the  very 
front  ranks  of  society.  Yes,  I  was  ambitious,  but  it  was  for  her. 

One  thing  troubled  me  :  every  once  in  a  while,  in  the  letters 
from  Miss  Mehitable,  came  one  from  Ellery  Davenport,  written 
in  a  free,  gay,  dashing,  cavalier  style,  and  addressing  Tina  with  a 
kind  of  patronizing  freedom  that  made  me  ineffably  angry.  I 
wanted  to  shoot  him.  Such  are  the  risings  of  the  ancient  Adam 
in  us,  even  after  we  have  joined  the  Church.  Tina  always 
laughed  at  me  because  I  scolded  and  frowned  at  these  letters,  and, 
I  thought,  seemed  to  take  rather  a  perverse  pleasure  in  them.  I 
have  often  speculated  on  that  trait  wherein  lovely  woman  slightly 
resembles  a  cat ;  she  cannot,  for  the  life  of  her,  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  play  with  her  mouse  a  little,  and  rouse  it  with  gentle  pats 
of  her  velvet  paw,  just  to  see  what  it  will  do. 

I  was,  of  course,  understood  to  be  under  solemn  bond  and  prom- 
ise to  love  Tina  only  as  a  brother ;  but  was  it  not  a  brother's  duty 
to  watch  over  his  sister  ?  With  what  satisfaction  did  I  remem- 
ber all  Miss  Debby  Kittery's  philippics  against  Ellery  Daven- 
port !  Did  I  not  believe  every  word  of  them  heartily  ?  I  hated 
the  French  language  with  all  my  soul,  and  Ellery  Davenport's 
proficiency  in  it ;  and  Tina  could  not  make  me  more  angry  than 
by  speaking  with  admiration  of  his  graceful  fluency  in  French,  and 
expressing  rather  wilful  determinations  that,  when  she  got  away 
from  Mr.  Rossiter' s  dictation,  she  would  study  it.  Mr.  Davenport 
had  said  that,  when  he  came  back  to  America,  he  would  give  her 
French  lessons.  He  was  always  kind  and  polite,  and  she  did  n't 
doubt  that  he  'd  give  me  lessons,  too,  if  I  'd  take  them.  "  French 
is  the  language  of  modern  civilization,"  said  Tina,  with  the  decis- 
ion of  a  professor.  But  she  made  me  promise  that  I  would  n't 
say  a  word  to  her  about  it  before  Mr.  Rossiter. 

"  Now,  Horace  dear,  you  know,"  she  said, "  that  French  to  him 
is  just  like  a  red  rag  to  a  bull ;  he  'd  begin  to  roar  and  lash  his  sides 
the  minute  you  said  the  words,  and  Mr.  Rossiter  and  I  are  capi- 


AFTER  THE  REVIVAL.  477 

tal  friends  now.  You  Ve  no  idea,  Horace,  how  good  he  is  to  me. 
He  takes  such  an  interest  in  the  development  of  my  mind.  He 
writes  me  a  letter  or  note  almost  every  week  about  it,  and  I  take 
his  advice,  you  know,  and  I  would  n't  want  to  hurt  his  feelings 
about  French,  or  anything  else.  What  do  you  suppose  he  hates  the 
French  so  for  ?  I  should  think  he  was  a  genuine  Englishman, 
that  had  been  kept  awake  nights  during  all  the  French  wars." 

"  Well,  Tina,"  I  said,  "  you  know  there  is  a  great  deal  of  cor- 
rupt and  dangerous  literature  in  the  French  language." 

"  What  nonsense,  Horace  !  just  as  if  there  was  n't  in  the  Eng- 
lish language,  too,  and  I  none  the  worse  for  it.  And  I  'm  sure 
there  are  no  ends  of  bad  things  in  the  classical  dictionary,  and  in 
the  mythology.  He  'd  better  talk  about  the  French  language  ! 
No,  you  may  depend  upon  it,  Horace,  I  shall  learn  French  as 
soon  as  I  leave  school." 

It  will  be  inferred  from  this  that  my  young  lady  had  a  consid- 
erable share  of  that  quality  which  Milton  represents  to  have  been 
the  ruin  of  our  first  mother ;  namely,  a  determination  to  go  her 
own  way  and  see  for  herself,  and  have  little  confidential  inter- 
views with  the  serpent,  notwithstanding  all  that  could  be  urged 
to  the  contrary  by  sober  old  Adam. 

"  Of  course,  Adam,"  said  Eve,  "  I  can  take  care  of  myself, 
and  don't  want  you  always  lumbering  after  me  with  your  advice. 
You  think  the  serpent  will  injure  me,  do  you  ?  That  just  shows 
how  little  you  know  about  me.  The  serpent,  Adam,  is  a  very 
agreeable  fellow,  and  helps  one  to  pass  away  one's  time  ;  but  he 
don't  take  me  in.  O  no !  there 's  no  danger  of  his  ever  getting 
around  me  !  So,  my  dear  Adam,  go  your  own  way  in  the  garden, 
and  let  me  manage  for  myself." 

Whether  in  the  celestial  regions  there  will  be  saints  and 
angels  who  develop  this  particular  form  of  self-will,  I  know  not ; 
but  in  this  world  of  what  Mr.  Avery  called  "  imperfect  sanctifi- 
cation,"  religion  does  n't  prevent  the  fair  angels  of  the  other 
sex  from  developing  this  quality  in  pretty  energetic  forms. 
In  fact,  I  found  that,  if  I  was  going  to  guide  my  Ariadne  at 
all,  I  must  let  out  my  line  fast,  and  let  her  feel  free  and  un- 
watched. 


478  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 


CHAPTER     XXXVII. 

THE  MINISTER'S  WOOD-SPELL. 

IT  was  in  the  winter  of  this  next  year  that  the  minister's 
"  wood-spell  "  was  announced. 

"  What  is  a  wood-spell  ? "  you  say.  Well,  the  pastor  was 
settled  on  the  understanding  of  receiving  two  hundred  dollars  a 
year  and  his  wood ;  and  there  was  a  certain  day  set  apart  in  the 
winter,  generally  in  the  time  of  the  best  sleighing,  when  every 
parisMoner  brought  the  minister  a  sled-load  of  wood ;  and  thus, 
in  the  course  of  time,  built  him  up  a  mighty  wood-pile. 

It  was  one  of  the  great  seasons  of  preparation  in  the  minister's 
family,  and  Tina,  Harry,  and  I  had  been  busy  for  two  or  three 
days  beforehand,  in  helping  Esther  create  the  wood-spell  cake, 
which  was  to  be  made  in  quantities  large  enough  to  give  ample 
slices  to  every  parishioner.  Two  days  beforehand,  the  fire  was 
besieged  with  a  row  of  earthen  pots,  in  which  the  spicy  com- 
pound was  rising  to  the  necessary  lightness,  and  Harry  and  I 
split  incredible  amounts  of  oven-wood,  and  in  the  evening  we  sat 
together  stoning  raisins  round  the  great  kitchen  fire,  with  Mr. 
Avery  in  the  midst  of  us,  telling  us  stories  and  arguing  with  us, 
and  entering  into  the  hilarity  of  the  thing  like  a  boy.  He  was 
so  happy  in  Esther,  and  delighted  to  draw  the  shy  color  into 
her  cheeks,  by  some  sly  joke  or  allusion,  when  Harry's  head  of 
golden  curls  came  into  close  proximity  with  her  smooth  black 
satin  tresses. 

The  cake  came  out  victorious,  and  we  all  claimed  the  merit  of 
it ;  and  a  mighty  cheese  was  bought,  and  every  shelf  of  the 
closet,  and  all  the  dressers  of  the  kitchen,  were  crowded  with 
the  abundance. 

We  had  a  jewel  of  a  morning,  —  one  of  those  sharp,  clear, 
sunny  winter  days,  when  the  sleds  squeak  over  the  flinty  snow, 
and  the  little  icicles  tingle  along  on  the  glittering  crust  as  they 


THE   MINISTER'S   WOOD-SPELL.  479 

fall  from  the  trees,  and  the  breath  of  the  slow-pacing  oxen 
steams  up  like  a  rosy  cloud  in  the  morning  sun,  and  then  falls 
back  condensed  in  little  icicles  on  every  hair. 

We  were  all  astir  early,  full  of  life  and  vigor.  There  was  a 
holiday  in  the  academy.  Mr.  Rossiter  had  been  invited  over  to 
the  minister's  to  chat  and  tell  stories  with  the  farmers,  and  give 
them  high  entertainment.  Miss  Nervy  Randall,  more  withered 
and  wild  in  her  attire  than  usual,  but  eminently  serviceable, 
stood  prepared  to  cut  cake  and  cheese  without  end,  and  dispense 
it  with  wholesome  nods  and  messages  of  comfort.  The  minister 
himself  heated  two  little  old  andirons  red-hot  in  the  fire,  and 
therewith  from  time  to  time  stirred  up  a  mighty  bowl  of  flip, 
which  was  to  ilow  in  abundance  to  every  comer.  Not  then  had 
the  temperance  reformation  dawned  on  America,  though  ten 
years  later  Mr.  A  very  would  as  soon  have  been  caught  in  a 
gambling-saloon  as  stirring  and  dispensing  a  bowl  of  flip  to  his 
parishioners. 

Mr.  Avery  had  recently  preached  a  highly  popular  sermon  on 
agriculture,  in  which  he  set  forth  the  dignity  of  the  farmer's  life, 
from  the  text,  "  For  the  king  himself  is  served  of  the  field  " ;  and 
there  had  been  a  rustle  of  professional  enthusiasm  in  all  the 
mountain  farms  around,  and  it  was  resolved,  by  a  sort  of  general 
consent,  that  the  minister's  wood-pile  this  year  should  be  of  the 
best :  none  of  your  old  make-shifts,  —  loads  made  out  with 
crooked  sticks  and  snapping  chestnut  logs,  most  noisy,  and 
destructive  to  good  wives'  aprons.  Good  straight  shagbark-hick- 
ory  was  voted  none  too  good  for  the  minister.  Also  the  axe  was 
lifted  up  on  many  a  proud  oak  and  beech  and  maple.  What 
destruction  of  glory  and  beauty  there  was  in  those  mountain 
regions !  How  ruthlessly  man  destroys  in  a  few  hours  that 
which  centuries  cannot  bring  again  ! 

What  an  idea  of  riches  in  those  glorious  woodland  regions  ! 
We  read  legends  of  millionnaires  who  fed  their  fires  with  cinna- 
mon and  rolled  up  thousand-dollar  bills  into  lamp-lighters,  in  the 
very  wantonness  of  profusion.  But  what  was  that  compared  to 
the  prodigality  which  fed  our  great  roaring  winter  fires  on  the 
thousand-leafed  oaks,  whose  conception  had  been  ages  ago, — 


480  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

who  were  children  of  the  light  and  of  the  day,  —  every  fragment 
and  fibre  of  them  made  of  most  celestial  influences,  of  sunshine 
and  rain-drops,  and  night-dews  arid  clouds,  slowly  working  for 
centuries  until  they  had  wrought  the  wondrous  shape  into  a  gi- 
gantic miracle  of  beauty?  And  then  snuffling  old  Heber  Atwood, 
with  his  two  hard-fisted  boys,  cut  one  down  in  a  forenoon  and 
made  logs  of  it  for  the  minister's  wood-pile.  If  this  is  n't  mak- 
ing light  of  serious  things,  we  don't  know  what  is.  But  think 
of  your  wealth,  O  ye  farmers !  —  think  what  beauty  and  glory 
every  year  perish  to  serve  your  cooking-stoves  and  chimney- 
corners. 

To  tell  the  truth,  very  little  of  such  sentiment  was  in  Mr. 
Avery's  mind  or  in  any  of  ours.  We  lived  in  a  woodland 
regipn,  and  we  were  blase  with  the  glory  of  trees.  We  did 
admire  the  splendid  elms  that  hung  their  cathedral  arches  over 
the  one  central  street  of  Cloudland  Village,  and  on  this  particu- 
lar morning  they  were  all  aflame  like  Aladdin's  palace,  hanging 
with  emeralds  and  rubies  and  crystals,  flashing  and  glittering 
and  dancing  in  the  sunlight.  And  when  the  first  sled  came 
squeaking  up  the  village  street,  we  did  not  look  upon  it  as  the 
funereal  hearse  bearing  the  honored  corpse  of  a  hundred  sum- 
mers, but  we  boys  clapped  our  hands  and  shouted,  "  Hurrah  for 
old  Heber ! "  as  his  load  of  magnificent  oak,  well-bearded  with 
gray  moss,  came  scrunching  into  the  yard.  Mr.  Avery  hastened 
to  draw  the  hot  flip-iron  from  the  fire  and  stir  the  foaming  bowl. 
Esther  began  cutting  the  first  loaf  of  cake,  and  Mr.  Rossiter 
walked  out  and  cracked  a  joke  on  Heber's  shoulder,  whereat  all 
the  cast-iron  lineaments  of  his  hard  features  relaxed.  Heber  had 
not  the  remotest  idea  at  this  moment  that  he  was  to  be  branded 
as  a  tree-murderer.  On  the  contrary,  if  there  was  anything 
for  which  he  valued  himself,  and  with  which  his  heart  was  at 
this  moment  swelling  with  victorious  pride,  it  was  his  power  of 
cutting  down  trees.  Man  he  regarded  in  a  physical  point  of 
view  as  principally  made  to  cut  down  trees,  and  trees  as  the 
natural  enemies  of  man.  When  he  stood  under  a  magnificent 
oak,  and  heard  the  airy  rustle  of  its  thousand  leaves,  to  his  ear  it 
was  always  a  rustle  of  defiance,  as  if  the  old  oak  had  challenged 


THE  MINISTER'S  WOOD-SPELL.  481 

him  to  single  combat ;  and  Heber  would  feel  of  his  axe  and  say, 
"  Next  winter,  old  boy,  we  '11  see,  —  we  '11  see  ! "  And  at  this 
moment  he  and  his  two  tall,  slab-sided,  big-handed  boys  came  into 
the  kitchen  with  an  uplifted  air,  in  which  triumph  was  but  just 
repressed  by  suitable  modesty.  They  came  prepared  to  be  com- 
plimented, and  they  were  complimented  accordingly. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Atwood,"  said  the  minister,  "  you  must  have  had 
pretty  hard  work  on  that  load ;  that 's  no  ordinary  oak ;  it  took 
strong  hands  to  roll  those  logs,  and  yet  I  don't  see  but  two  of 
your  boys.  "Where  are  they  all  now  ?  " 

"  Scattered,  scattered ! "  said  Heber,  as  he  sat  with  a  great 
block  of  cake  in  one  hand,  and  sipped  his  mug  of  flip,  looking, 
with  his  grizzly  beard  and  shaggy  hair  and  his  iron  features, 
like  a  cross  between  a  polar  bear  and  a  man,  —  a  very  shrewd, 
thoughtful,  reflective  polar  bear,  however,  quite  up  to  any  sort  of 
argument  with  a  man. 

"  Yes,  they  're  scattered,"  he  said.  "  We  're  putty  lonesome 
now  't  our  house.  Nobody  there  but  Pars,  Dass,  Dill,  Noah, 
and  'Liakim.  I  ses  to  Noah  and  'Liakim  this  mornin',  '  Ef  we 
had  all  our  boys  to  hum,  we  sh'd  haf  to  take  up  two  loads  to  the 
minister,  sartin,  to  make  it  fair  on  the  wood-spell  cake.' " 

"  Where  are  your  boys  now  ?  "  said  Mr.  Avery.  "  I  have  n't 
seen  them  at  meeting  now  for  a  good  while." 

"  Wai,  Sol  and  Tim  's  gone  up  to  Umbagog,  lumberin' ;  and 
Tite,  he  's  sailed  to  Archangel ;  and  Jeduth,  he  's  gone  to  th' 
West  Injies  for  molasses ;  and  Pete,  he  's  gone  to  the  West. 
Folks  begins  to  talk  now  'bout  that  'ere  Western  kentry,  and  so 
Pete,  he  must  go  to  Buffalo,  and  see  the  great  West.  He  's  writ 
back  about  Niagry  Falls.  His  letters  is  most  amazin'.  The  old 
woman,  she  can't  feel  easy  'bout  him  no  way.  She  insists  'pon  it 
them  Injuns  '11  scalp  him.  The  old  woman  is  just  as  choice  of 
her  boys  as  ef  she  had  n't  got  just  es  many  es  she  has." 

"  How  many  sons  have  you  ?  "  said  Harry,  with  a  countenance 
of  innocent  wonder. 

"  Wai,"  said  Heber,  "  I  've  seen  the  time  when  I  had  fourteen 
good,  straight  boys^  —  all  on  'em  a  turnin'  over  a  log  together." 

"Dear  me!"  said  Tina.    "  Had  n't  you  any  daughters ?" 

21  EB 


482  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  Gals  ?  "  said  Heber,  reflectively.  "  Bless  you,  yis.  There  's 
been  a  gal  or  two  'long,  in  between,  here  an'  there,  —  don't  jest 
remember  where  they  come ;  but,  any  way,  there  's  plenty  of 
women-folks  't  our  house." 

"  Why ! "  said  Tina,  with  a  toss  of  her  pretty  head,  "  you 
don't  seem  to  think  much  of  women." 

"  Good  in  their  way,"  said  Heber,  shaking  his  head ;  "  but 
Adam  was  fust  formed,  and  then  Eve,  you  know."  Looking 
more  attentively  at  Tina  as  she  stood  bridling  and  dimpling  be- 
fore him,  like  a  bird  just  ready  to  fly,  Heber  conceived  an  indis- 
tinct idea  that  he  must  say  something  gallant,  so  he  added, 
"  Give  all  honor  to  the  women,  as  weaker  vessels,  ye  know ; 
that 's  sound  doctrine,  I  s'pose." 

Heber  having  now  warmed  and  refreshed  himself,  and  endowed 
Lis  minister  with  what  he  conceived  to  be  a  tip-top,  irreproach- 
able load  of  wood,  proceeded,  also,  to  give  him  the  benefit  of  a 
little  good  advice,  prefaced  by  gracious  words  of  encouragement. 
"  I  wus  tellin'  my  old  woman  this  mornin'  that  I  did  n't  grudge  a 
cent  of  my  subscription,  'cause  your  preachin'  lasts  well  and  pays 
well.  Ses  I,  'Mr.  Avery  ain't  the  kind  of  man  that  strikes 
twelve  the  fust  time.  He  's  a  man  that  '11  wear/  That 's  what 
I  said  fust,  and  I  've  followed  y'  up  putty  close  in  yer  preachin' ; 
but  then  I  Ve  jest  got  one  word  to  say  to  ye.  Ain't  free 
agency  a  gettin'  a  leetle  too  top-heavy  in  yer  preachin'  ?  Ain't 
it  kind  o'  overgrowin'  sovereignty  ?  Now,  ye  see,  divine  sover- 
eignty hes  got  to  be  took  care  of  as  well  as  free  agency.  That 's 
all,  that 's  all.  I  thought  I  'd  jest  drop  the  thought,  ye  know, 
and  leave  you  to  think  on  't.  This  'ere  last  revival  you  run  along 
considerble  on  '  Whosoever  will  may  come,'  an'  all  that.  Now, 
p'r'aps,  ef  you  'd  jest  tighten  up  the  ropes  a  leetle  t'other  side, 
and  give  'em  sovereignty,  the  hull  load  would  sled  easier." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Avery,  "  I  'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  your 
suggestions." 

K  Now  there  ?s  my  wife's  brother,  Josh  Baldwin,"  said  Heber ; 
"he  was  delegate  to  the  last  Consociation,  and  he  heerd  your 
openin'  sermon,  and  ses  he  to  me,  ses  he,  '  Your  minister 
sartin  doos  slant  a  leetle  towards  th'  Arminians ;  he  don't  quite 


THE  MINISTER'S  WOOD-SPELL.  488 

walk  llie  crack,'  Josh  says,  ses  lie.  Ses  I,  <  Josh,  we  ain't  none 
on  us  perfect ;  but/  ses  I,  *  Mr.  Avery  ain't  no  Anninian,  I  can 
tell  you.  Yeh  can't  judge  Mr.  Avery  by  one  sermon,'  ses  I. 
You  hear  him  preach  the  year  round,  and  ye  '11  find  that  all 
the  doctrines  gits  their  place.'  Ye  see  I  stood  up  for  ye,  Mr. 
Avery,  but  I  thought 't  would  n't  do  no  harm  to  kind  o'  let  ye 
know  what  folks  is  sayin'." 

Here  the  theological  discussion  was  abruptly  cut  short  by 
Deacon  Zachary  Chipman's  load,  which  entered  the  yard  amid 
the  huzzahs  of  the  boys.  Heber  and  his  boys  were  at  the  door 
in  a  minute.  "  Wai,  railly,  ef  the  deacon  hain't  come  down  with 
his  shagbark!  Wai,  wal,  the  revival  has  operated  on  him 
some,  I  guess.  Last  year  the  deacon  sent  a  load  that  I  'd  ha' 
been  ashamed  to  had  in  my  back  yard,  an'  I  took  the  liberty  o* 
tellin'  on  him  so.  Good,  straight-grained  shagbark.  Wal, 
wal !  I  '11  go  out  an'  help  him  onload  it.  Ef  that  'ere  holds  out 
to  the  bottom,  the  deacon  's  done  putty  wal,  an*  I  shall  think 
grace  has  made  some  progress." 

The  deacon,  a  mournful,  dry,  shivery-looking  man,  with  a  little 
round  bald  head,  looking  wistfully  out  of  a  great  red  comforter,  all 
furry  and  white  with  the  sharp  frosts  of  the  morning,  and,  with  his 
small  red  eyes  weeping  tears  through  the  sharpness  of  the  air, 
looked  as  if  he  had  come  as  chief  mourner  at  the  hearse  of  his 
beloved  hickory-trees.  He  had  cut  down  the  very  darlings  of 
his  soul,  and  come  up  with  his  precious  load,  impelled  by  a 
divine  impulse  like  that  which  made  the  lowing  kine,  in  the  Old 
Testament  story,  come  slowly  bearing  the  ark  of  God,  while 
their  brute  hearts  were  turning  toward  the  calves  that  they  had 
left  at  home.  Certainly,  if  virtue  is  in  proportion  to  sacrifice, 
Deacon  Chipman's  load  of  hickoiy  had  more  of  self-sacrifice  in 
it  than  a  dozen  loads  from  old  Heber ;  for  Heber  was  a  forest 
prince  in  his  way  of  doing  things,  and,  with  all  his  shrewd  calcu- 
lations of  money's  worth,  had  an  open-handed  generosity  of 
nature  that  made  him  take  a  pride  in  liberal  giving. 

The  little  man  shrank  mournfully  into  a  corner,  and  sipped  his 
tumbler  of  flip  and  ate  his  cake  and  cheese  as  if  he  had  been  at 
a  funeral. 


484  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"How  are  you  all  at  home,  deacon?"  said  Mr.  Avery, 
heartily. 

"Just  crawlin',  thank  you, — just  crawlin'.  My  old  woman 
don't  git  out  much ;  her  rheumatiz  gits  a  dreadful  strong  hold 
on  her ;  and,  Mr.  Avery,  she  hopes  you  '11  be  round  to  visit  her 
'fore  long.  Since  the  revival  she 's  kind  o'  fell  into  darkness,  and 
don't  see  no  cheerin'  views.  She  ses  sometimes  the  universe 
ain't  nothin'  but  blackness  and  darkness  to  her." 

"  Has  she  a  good  appetite  ?  "  said  Mr.  Avery. 

"Wai,  no.  She  don't  enjoy  her  vittles  much.  Some  say 
she  's  got  the  jaunders.  I  try  to  cosset  her  up,  and  git  her  to 
take  relishin'  things.  I  tell  her  ef  she  'd  eat  a  good  sassage  for 
breakfast  of  a  cold  mornin',  with  a  good  hearty  bit  o'  mince-pie, 
and  a  cup  o'  strong  coffee,  't  would  kind  o'  set  her  up  for  the 
day ;  but,  somehow,  she  don't  git  no  nourishment  from  her 
food." 

"  There,  Rossiter,"  we  heard  Mr.  Avery  whisper  aside,  "  you 
see  what  a  country  minister  has  to  do,  —  give  cheering  views  to 
a  dyspeptic  that  breakfasts  on  sausages  and  mince-pies." 

And  now  the  loads  began  coming  thick  and  fast.  Sometimes 
two  and  three,  and  sometimes  four  and  five,  came  stringing  along, 
one  after  another,  in  unbroken  procession.  For  every  one  Mr. 
Avery  had  an  appreciative  word.  Its  especial  points  were 
noticed  and  commended,  and  the  farmers  themselves,  shrewdest 
observers,  looked  at  every  load  and  gave  it  their  verdict.  By 
and  by  the  kitchen  was  full  of  a  merry,  chatting  circle,  and  Mr. 
Rossiter  and  Mr.  Avery  were  telling  their  best  stories,  and  roars 
of  laughter  came  from  the  house. 

Tina  glanced  in  and  out  among  the  old  farmers,  like  a  bright 
tropical  bird,  carrying  the  cake  and  cheese  to  each  one,  laugh- 
ing and  telling  stories,  dispensing  smiles  to  the  younger  ones,  — 
treacherous  smiles,  which  meant  nothing,  but  made  the  hearts 
beat  faster  under  their  shaggy  coats ;  and  if  she  saw  a  red-fisted 
fellow  in  a  corner,  who  seemed  to  be  having  a  bad  time,  she 
would  go  and  sit  down  by  him,  and  be  so  gracious  and  warming 
and  winning  that  his  tongue  would  be  loosened,  and  he  would  tell 
her  all  about  his  steers  and  his  calves  and  his  last  crop  of  corn, 


THE  MINISTER'S  WOOD-SPELL.  485 

and  his  load  of  wood,  and  then  wonder  all  the  way  home  whether 
he  should  ever  have,  in  a  house  of  his  own,  a  pretty  little  woman 
like  that. 

By  afternoon  the  minister's  wood-pile  was  enormous.  It 
stretched  beyond  anything  before  seen  in  Cloudland ;  it  exceeded 
all  the  legends  of  neighboring  wood-piles  and  wood-spells  re- 
lated by  deacons  and  lay  delegates  in  the  late  Consociation. 
And  truly,  among  things  picturesque  and  graceful,  among  child- 
ish remembrances,  dear  and  cheerful,  there  is  nothing  that  more 
speaks  to  my  memory  than  the  dear,  good  old  mossy  wood-pile. 
Harry,  Tina,  Esther,  and  I  ran  up  and  down  and  in  and  about 
the  piles  of  wood  that  evening  with  a  joyous  satisfaction.  How 
fresh  and  spicy  and  woodsy  it  smelt !  I  can  smell  now  the 
fragrance  of  the  hickory,  whose  clear,  oily  bark  in  burning  cast 
forth  perfume  quite  equal  to  cinnamon.  Then  there  was  the 
fragrant  black  birch,  sought  and  prized  by  us  all  for  the  high- 
flavored  bark  on  the  smaller  limbs,  which  was  a  favorite  species 
of  confectionery  to  us.  There  were  also  the  logs  of  white  birch, 
gleaming  up  in  their  purity,  from  which  we  made  sheets  of  wood- 
land parchment. 

It  is  recorded  of  one  man  who  stands  in  a  high  position  at 
Washington,  that  all  his  earlier  writing-lessons  were  performed 
upon  leaves  of  the  white  birch  bark,  the  only  paper  used  in  the 
family. 

Then  there  were  massive  trunks  of  oak,  veritable  worlds  of 
mossy  vegetation  in  themselves,  with  tufts  of  green  velvet  nestled 
away  in  their  bark,  and  sheets  of  greenness  carpeting  their  sides, 
and  little  white,  hoary  trees  of  moss,  with  little  white,  hoary  apples 
upon  them,  like  miniature  orchards. 

One  of  our  most  interesting  amusements  was  forming  land- 
scapes in  the  snow,  in  which  we  had  mountains  and  hills  and 
valleys,  and  represented  streams  of  water  by  means  of  glass,  and 
clothed  the  sides  of  our  hills  with  orchards  of  apple-trees  made 
of  this  gray  moss.  It  was  an  incipient  practice  at  landscape- 
gardening,  for  which  we  found  rich  material  in  the  wood-pile. 
Esther  and  Tina  had  been  filling  their  aprons  with  these  mossy 
treasures,  for  which  we  had  all  been  searching  together,  and 


486  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

now  we  all  sat  chatting  in  the  evening  light.  The  sun  was 
going  down.  The  sleds  had  ceased  to  come,  the  riches  of  our 
woodland  treasures  were  all  in,  the  whole  air  was  full  of  the 
trembling,  rose-colored  light  that  turned  all  the  snow-covered 
landscape  to  brightness.  All  around  us  not  a  fence  to  be  seen, 
—  nothing  but  waving  hollows  of  spotless  snow,  glowing  with  the 
rosy  radiance,  and  fading  away  in  purple  and  lilac  shadows ;  and 
the  evening  stars  began  to  twinkle,  one  after  another,  keen  and 
clear  through  the  frosty  air,  as  we  all  sat  together  in  triumph  on 
the  highest  perch  of  the  wood-pile.  And  Harry  said  to  Esther, 
"  One  of  these  days  they  '11  be  bringing  in  our  wood,"  and 
Esther's  cheeks  reflected  the  pink  of  the  sky. 

"  Yes,  indeed ! "  said  Tina.  "  And  then  I  am  coming  to  live 
with  you.  I  'm  going  to  be  an  old  maid,  you  know,  and  I  shall 
help  Esther  as  I  do  now.  I  never  shall  want  to  be  married." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  ring  of  sleigh-bells  was  heard  coming 
up  the  street.  Who  and  what  now  ?  A  little  one-horse  sleigh 
drove  swiftly  up  to  the  door,  the  driver  sprang  out  with  a  lively 
alacrity,  hitched  his  horse,  and  came  toward  the  house.  In  the 
same  moment  Tina  and  I  recognized  Ellery  Davenport ! 


ELLERY  DAVENPORT.  487 

CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

ELLERY   DAVENPORT. 

TINA  immediately  turned  and  ran  into  the  house,  laughing, 
and  up  stairs  into  her  chamber,  leaving  Esther  to  go 
seriously  forward,  —  Esther  always  tranquil  and  always  ready. 
For  myself,  I  felt  such  a  vindictive  hatred  at  the  moment  as 
really  alarmed  me.  What  had  this  good-natured  man  done,  with 
his  frank,  merry  face  and  his  easy,  high-bred  air,  that  I  should 
hate  him  so  ?  What  sort  of  Christian  was  I,  to  feel  in  this 
way  ?  Certainly  it  was  a  temptation  of  the  Devil,  and  I  would 
put  it  down,  and  act  like  a  reasonable  being.  So  I  went  forward 
with'  Harry,  and  he  shook  hands  with  us. 

"  Hulloa,  fellows ! "  he  said,  "  you  Ve  made  the  great  leap 
since  I  saw  you,  and  changed  from  boys  into  men." 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Avery,"  he  said,  as  we  presented  him  to 
her.  "  May  I  trench  on  your  hospitality  a  little  ?  I  am  a  trav- 
eller in  these  arctic  regions,  and  Miss  Mehitable  charged  me  to 
call  and  see  after  the  health  and  happiness  of  our  young  friends 
here.  I  see,"  he  said,  looking  at  us,  "that  there  need  be  no 
inquiries  after  health;  your  looks  speak  for  themselves." 

"  Why,  Percival ! "  he  said,  turning  to  Harry,  "  what  a  pair 
of  shoulders  you  are  getting!  Genuine  Saxon  blood  runs  in 
your  veins  plainly  enough,  and  one  of  these  days,  when  you  get 
to  be  Sir  Harry  Percival,  you  '11  do  honor  to  the  name." 

The  proud,  reserved  blood  flushed  into  Harry's  face,  and  his 
blue  eyes,  usually  so  bright  and  clear,  sparkled  with  displeasure. 
I  was  pleased  to  see  that  Ellery  Davenport  had  made  him  angry. 
Yes,  I  said  to  myself,  "  What  want  of  tact  for  him  to  dare  to  touch 
on  a  subject  that  Harry's  most  intimate  friends  never  speak  of! " 

Esther  looked  fixedly  at  him  with  those  clear,  piercing  hazel 
eyes,  as  if  she  were  mentally  studying  him.  I  hoped  she  would 
not  like  him  ;  yet  why  should  I  hope  so  ? 


488  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

He  saw  in  a  moment  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  and  glided 
off  quickly  to  another  subject. 

"  Where 's  my  fair  little  enemy,  Miss  Tina  ?  "  he  said. 

His  "  fair  little  enemy  "  was  at  this  moment  attentively  study- 
ing him  through  a  crack  in  the  window-curtain.  Shall  I  say,  too, 
that  the  first  thing  she  did,  on  rushing  up  to  her  room,  was  to 
look  at  her  hair,  and  study  herself  in  the  glass,  wondering  how 
she  would  look  to  him  now.  Well,  she  had  not  seen  herself  for 
some  hours,  and  self-knowledge  is  a  virtue,  we  all  know.  And 
then  our  scamper  over  the  wood-pile,  in  the  fresh,  evening  air, 
must  have  deranged  something,  for  Tina  had  one  of  those  re- 
bellious heads  of  curls  that  every  breeze  takes  liberties  with,  and 
that  have  to  be  looked  after  and  watched  and  restrained.  Es- 
ther's satin  bands  of  hair  could  pass  through  a  whirlwind,  and 
not  lose  their  gloss.  It  is  curious  how  character  runs  even  to  the 
minutest  thing,  —  the  very  hairs  of  our  heads  are  numbered  by 
it,  —  Esther,  always  in  everything  self-poised,  thoughtful,  reflec- 
tive ;  Tina,  the  child  of  every  wandering  influence,  tremulously 
alive  to  every  new  excitement,  a  wind-harp  for  every  air  of 
heaven  to  breathe  upon. 

It  would  be  hard  to  say  what  mysterious  impulse  for  good  or 
511  made  her  turn  and  run  when  she  saw  Ellery  Davenport. 
That  turning  and  running  in  girls  means  something ;  it  means 
that  the  electric  chain  has  been  struck  in  some  way ;  but  how  ? 

Mr.  Davenport  came  into  the  house,  and  was  received  with 
Frank  cordiality  by  Mr.  Avery.  He  was  a  grandson  of  Jonathan 
Edwards,  and  the  good  man  regarded  him  as,  in  some  sort,  a  son 
of  the  Church,  and  had,  no  doubt,  instantaneous  promptings  for 
his  conversion.  Mr.  Avery,  though  he  believed  stringently  in 
the  doctrine  of  total  depravity,  was  very  innocent  in  his  applica- 
tion of  it  to  individuals.  That  Ellery  Davenport  was  a  sceptic 
was  well  known  in  New  England,  wherever  the  reputation  of  his 
brilliant  talents  and  person  had  circulated,  and  Mr.  Avery  had 
often  longed  for  an  opportunity  to  convert  him.  The  dear,  good 
man  had  no  possible  idea  that  anybody  could  go  wrong  from  any 
thing  but  mistaken  views,  and  he  was  sure,  in  the  case  of  Ellery 
Davenport,  that  his  mind  must  have  been  perplexed  about  free 


ELLERY  DAVENPOET.  489 

agency  and  decrees,  and  thus  he  hailed  with  delight  the  Provi- 
dence which  had  sent  him  to  his  abode.  He  plunged  into  an 
immediate  conversation  with  him  about  the  state  of  France, 
whence  he  had  just  returned. 

Esther,  meanwhile,  went  up  stairs  to  notify  Tina  of  his  ar- 
rival. 

"  Mr.  Ellery  Davenport  is  below,  and  has  inquired  for  you." 

Nobody  could  be  more  profoundly  indifferent  to  any  piece  of 
news. 

"Was  that  Mr.  Ellery  Davenport?  How  stupid  of  him  to 
come  here  when  we  are  all  so  tired !  I  don't  think  I  can  go 
down  ;  I  am  too  tired." 

Esther,  straightforward  Esther,  took  the  thing  as  stated.  Tina, 
to  be  sure,  had  exhibited  no  symptoms  of  fatigue  up  to  that  mo- 
ment ;  but  Esther  now  saw  that  she  had  been  allowing  her  to 
over-exert  herself. 

"  My  darling,"  she  said,  "  I  have  been  letting  you  do  too  much 
altogether.  You  are  quite  right ;  you  should  lie  down  here  quietly, 
and  I-'ll  bring  you  up  your  tea.  Perhaps  by  and  by,  in  the  even- 
ing, you  might  come  down  and  see  Mr.  Davenport,  when  you  are 
rested." 

"  O  nonsense  about  Mr.  Davenport !  he  does  n't  come  to  see 
me.  He  wants  to  talk  with  your  father,  I  suppose." 

"  But  he  has  inquired  for  you  two  or  three  times,"  said  Es- 
ther, "and  he  really  seems  to  be  a  very  entertaining,  well- 
informed  man  ;  so  by  and  by,  if  you  feel  rested,  I  should  think 
you  had  better  come  down." 

Now  I,  for  my  part,  wondered  then  and  wonder  now,  and  al- 
ways shall,  what  all  this  was  for.  Tina  certainly  was  not  a 
coquette ;  she  had  not  learned  the  art  of  trading  in  herself, 
and  using  her  powers  and  fascinations  as  women  do  who  have 
been  in  the  world,  and  learnt  the  precise  value  of  everything  that 
they  say  and  do.  She  was,  at  least  now,  a  simple  child  of  nature, 
yet  she  acted  exactly  as  an  artful  coquette  might  have  done. 

Ellery  Davenport  constantly  glanced  at  the  door  as  he  talked 
with  Mr.  Avery,  and  shifted  uneasily  on  his  chair ;  evidently  he 
expected  her  to  enter,  and  when  Esther  returned  without  her  he 
21* 


490  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

was  secretly  vexed  and  annoyed.  I  was  glad  of  it,  too,  like  a 
fool  as  I  was.  It  would  have  been  a  thousand  times  better  for 
my  hopes  had  she  walked  straight  out  to  meet  him,  cool  and 
friendly,  like  Esther.  There  was  one  comfort ;  he  was  a  married 
man ;  but  then  that  crazy  wife  of  his  might  die,  or  might  be  dead 
now.  Who  knew  ?  To  be  sure,  Ellery  Davenport  never  had  the 
air  of  a  married  man,  —  that  steady,  collected,  sensible,  restrained 
air  which  belongs  to  the  male  individual,  conscious,  wherever  he 
moves,  of  a  home  tribunal,  to  which  he  is  reponsible.  He  had 
gone  loose  in  society,  pitied  and  petted  and  caressed  by  ladies, 
and  everybody  said,  if  his  wife  should  die,  Ellery  Davenport 
might  marry  whom  he  pleased.  Esther  knew  nothing  about 
him,  except  a  faint  general  outline  of  his  history.  She  had  no 
prepossessions  for  or  against,  and  he  laid  himself  out  to  please 
her  in  conversation,  with  that  easy  grace  and  quick  perception  of 
character  which  were  habitual  with  him.  Ellery  Davenport  had 
been  a  thriving  young  Jacobin,  and  Mr.  Avery  and  Mr.  Rossiter 
were  fierce  Federalists. 

Mr.  Rossiter  came  in  to  tea,  and  both  of  them  bore  down  ex- 
ultingly  on  Ellery  Davenport  in  regard  to  the  disturbances  in 
France. 

"  Just  what  I  always  said ! "  said  Mr.  Rossiter.  "  French 
democracy  is  straight  from  the  Devil.  It 's  the  child  of  misrule, 
and  leads  to  anarchy.  See  what  their  revolution  is  coming  to. 
"Well,  I  may  not  be  orthodox  entirely  on  the  question  of  total 
depravity,  but  I  always  admitted  the  total  depravity  of  the  whole 
French  nation." 

"  O,  the  French  are  men  of  like  passions  with  us ! "  said 
Ellery  Davenport.  "  They  have  been  ground  down  and  debased 
and  imbrtited  till  human  nature  can  bear  no  longer,  and  now 
there  is  a  sudden  outbreak  of  the  lower  classes,  —  the  turning  of 
the  worm." 

"  Not  a  worm,"  said  Mr.  Rossiter, "  a  serpent,  and  a  strong  one." 

"  Davenport,"  said  Mr.  Avery,  "  don't  you  see  that  all  this  is 
because  this  revolution  is  in  the  hands  of  atheists  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do,  sir.  These  fellows  have  destroyed  the  faith 
of  the  common  people,  and  given  them  nothing  in  its  place." 


ELLEBY  DAVENPORT.  491 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  recognize  that,"  said  Mr.  Avery. 

"  Recognize,  my  dear  sir !  Nobody  knows  the  worth  of  re- 
ligion as  a  political  force  better  than  I  do.  Those  French 
people  are  just  like  children,  —  full  of  sentiment,  full  of  feeling, 
full  of  fire,  but  without  the  cold,  judging,  logical  power  that  is 
frozen  into  men  here  by  your  New  England  theology.  If  I 
have  got  to  manage  a  republic,  give  me  Calvinists." 

"  You  admit,  then,"  said  Mr.  Avery,  delightedly,  "  the  worth 
of  Calvinism." 

"  As  a  political  agent,  certainly  I  do,"  said  Ellery  Davenport. 
"  Men  must  have  strong,  positive  religious  beliefs  to  give  them 
vigorous  self-government ;  and  republics  are  founded  on  the  self' 
governing  power  of  the  individual." 

"  Davenport,"  said  Mr.  Avery,  affectionately  laying  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  "  I  should  like  to  have  said  that  thing  myself, 
I  could  n't  have  put  it  better." 

"But  do  you  suppose,"  said  Esther,  trembling  with  eager- 
ness, "  that  they  will  behead  the  Queen  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  said  Ellery  Davenport,  with  that  air  of 
cheerful  composure  with  which  the  retailer  of  the  last  horror 
delights  to  shock  a  listener.  "  0  certainly !  I  would  n't  give  a 
pin  for  her  chance.  You  read  the  account  of  the  trial,  I  sup- 
pose ;  you  saw  that  it  was  a  foregone  conclusion  ?  " 

"I  did,  indeed,"  said  Esther.  "But,  O  Mr.  Davenport! 
can  nothing  be  done  ?  There  is  Lafayette  ;  can  he  do  nothing  ?  " 

"  Lafayette  may  think  himself  happy  if  he  keeps  his  own 
head  on  his  shoulders,"  said  Davenport.  "  The  fact  is,  that  there 
is  a  wild  beast  in  every  human  being.  In  our  race  it  is  the 
lion.  In  the  French  race  it  is  the  tiger,  —  hotter,  more  tropical, 
more  blindly  intense  in  rage  and  wrath.  Religion,  government, 
education,  are  principally  useful  in  keeping  the  human  dominant 
over  the  beast ;  but  when  the  beast  gets  above  the  human  in  the 
community,  woe  be  to  it." 

"  Davenport,  you  talk  like  an  apostle,"  said  Mr.  Avery. 

"  You  know  the  devils  believe  and  tremble,"  said  Ellery. 

"  Well,  I  take  it,"  said  Mr.  Rossiter,  "  you  Ve  come  home 
from  France  disposed  to  be  a  good  Federalist." 


492  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  said  Ellery  Davenport.  "  We  must  all  live 
and  learn,  you  know." 

And  so  in  one  evening  Ellery  witched  himself  into  the  good 
graces  of  every  one  in  the  simple  parsonage ;  and  when  Tina 
at  last  appeared  she  found  him  reigning  king  of  the  circle. 
Mr.  Eossiter,  having  drawn  from  him  the  avowal  that  he  was 
a  Federalist,  now  looked  complacently  upon  him  as  a  hopeful 
young  neophyte.  Mr.  Avery  saw  evident  marks  of  grace  in 
his  declarations  in  favor  of  Calvinism,  while  yet  there  was  a 
spicy  flavor  of  the  prodigal  son  about  him,  —  enough  to  en- 
gage him  for  his  conversion.  Your  wild,  wicked,  witty  prodi- 
gal son  is  to  a  spiritual  huntsman  an  attractive  mark,  like 
some  rare  kind  of  eagle,  whose  ways  must  be  studied,  and 
whose  nest  must  be  marked,  and  in  whose  free,  savage  gam- 
bols in  the  blue  air  and  on  the  mountain-tops  he  has  a  kind  of 
hidden  sympathy. 

When  Tina  entered,  it  was  with  an  air  unusually  shy  and 
quiet.  She  took  all  his  compliments  on  her  growth  and  change 
of  appearance  with  a  negligent,  matter-of-course  air,  seated  her- 
self in  the  most  distant  part  of  the  room,  and  remained  obstinately 
still  and  silent.  Nevertheless,  it  was  to  be  observed  that  she 
lost  not  a  word  that  he  said,  or  a  motion  that  he  made.  Was 
she  in  that  stage  of  attraction  which  begins  with  repulsion  ?  or 
did  she  feel  stirring  within  her  that  intense  antagonism  which 
woman  sometimes  feels  toward  man,  when  she  instinctively 
divines  that  he  may  be  the  one  who  shall  one  day  send  a  herald 
and  call  on  her  to  surrender.  Women  are  so  intense,  they  have 
such  prophetic,  fore-reaching,  nervous  systems,  that  sometimes 
they  appear  to  be  endowed  with  a  gift  of  prophecy.  Tina  cer- 
tainly was  an  innocent  child  at  this  time,  uncalculating,  and 
acting  by  instinct  alone,  and  she  looked  upon  Ellery  Davenport 
as  a  married  man,  who  was  and  ought  to  be  and  would  be  noth- 
ing to  her ;  and  yet,  for  the  life  of  her,  she  could  not  treat  him  as 
she  treated  other  men. 

If  there  was  in  him  something  which  powerfully  attracted, 
there  was  also  something  of  the  reverse  pole  of  the  magnet, 
that  repelled,  and  inspired  a  feeling  not  amounting  to  fear,  but 


ELLERY  DAVENPOET.  493 

having  an  undefined  savor  of  dread,  as  if  some  invisible  spirit 
about  him  gave  mysterious  warning.  There  was  a  sense  of 
such  hidden,  subtile  power  under  his  suavities,  the  grasp  of  the 
iron  hand  was  so  plain  through  the  velvet  glove,  that  delicate 
and  impressible  natures  felt  it.  Ellery  Davenport  was  prompt 
and  energetic  and  heroic ;  he  had  a  great  deal  of  impulsive  good- 
nature, as  his  history  in  all  our  affairs  shows.  He  was  always 
willing  to  reach  out  the  helping  hand,  and  helped  to  some  pur- 
pose when  he  did  so ;  and  yet  I  felt,  rather  than  could  prove, 
in  his  presence,  that  he  could  be  very  remorseless  and  persistently 
cruel. 

Ellery  Davenport  inherited  the  whole  Edwards  nature,  with- 
out its  religious  discipline,  —  a  nature  strong  both  in  intellect 
and  passion.  He  was  an  unbelieving  Jonathan  Edwards.  It 
was  this  whole  nature  that  I  felt  in  him,  and  I  looked  upon 
the  gradual  interest  which  I  saw  growing  in  Tina  toward  him, 
in  the  turning  of  her  thoughts  on  him,  in  her  flights  from  him 
and  attractions  to  him,  as  one  looks  on  the  struggles  of  a  fas- 
cinated bird,  who  flees  and  returns,  and  flees  and  returns,  each 
time  drawn  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  diamond  eyes. 

These  impressions  which  come  to  certain  kinds  of  natures  are 
so  dim  and  cloudy,  it  is  so  much  the  habit  of  the  counter-current 
of  life  to  disregard  them,  and  to  feel  that  an  impression  of  which 
you  have  no  physical,  external  proof  is  of  necessity  an  absurdity 
and  a  weakness,  that  they  are  seldom  acted  on,  —  seldom,  at 
least,  in  New  England,  where  the  habit  of  logic  is  so  formed 
from  childhood  in  the  mind,  and  the  believing  of  nothing  which 
you  cannot  prove  is  so  constant  a  portion  of  the  life  education. 
Yet  with  regard  to  myself,  as  I  have  stated  before,  there  was 
always  a  sphere  of  impression  surrounding  individuals,  for  which 
often  I  could  give  no  reasonable  account.  It  was  as  if  there 
had  been  an  emanation  from  the  mind,  like  that  from  the  body. 
From  some  it  was  an  emanation  of  moral  health  and  purity  and 
soundness;  from  others,  the  sickly  effluvium  of  moral  decay, 
sometimes  penetrating  through  all  sorts  of  outward  graces  and 
accomplishments,  like  the  smell  of  death  through  the  tube-roses 
and  lilies  on  the  coffin. 


494  OLDTOWH  FOLKS. 

I  could  not  prove  that  Ellery  Davenport  was  a  wicked  man  ; 
but  I  had  mi  instinctive  abhorrence  of  him,  for  which  I  re- 
proached myself  constantly,  deeming  it  only  the  madness  of  an 
unreasonable  jealousy. 

His  stay  with  us  at  this  time  was  only  for  a  few  hours.  The 
next  morning  he  took  Harry  alone  and  communicated  to  him 
some  intelligence  quite  important  to  his  future. 

"  I  have  been  to  visit  your  father/'  he  said,  "  and  have  made 
him  aware  what  treasures  he  possesses  in  his  children." 

"  His  children  have  no  desire  that  he  should  be  made  aware 
of  it,"  said  Harry,  coldly.  "  He  has  broken  all  ties  between 
them  and  him." 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  Ellery  Davenport,  "  the  fact  is  Sir  Harry 
has  gone  into  the  virtuous  stage  of  an  Englishman's  life,  where  a 
man  is  busy  taking  care  of  his  gouty  feet,  looking  after  his  ten- 
ants, and  repenting  at  his  leisure  of  the  sins  of  his  youth.  But 
you  will  find,  when  you  come  to  enter  college  next  year,  that 
there  will  be  a  handsome  allowance  at  your  disposal  j  and,  be- 
tween you  and  me,  I  '11  just  say  to  you  that  young  Sir  Harry  is 
about  as  puny  and  feeble  a  little  bit  of  mortality  as  I  ever  saw. 
To  my  thinking,  they  '11  never  raise  him ;  and  his  life  is  all  that 
stands  between  you  and  the  estate.  You  know  that  I  got  your 
mother's  marriage  certificate,  and  it  is  safe  in  Parson  Lothrop's 
hands.  So  you  see  there  may  be  a  brilliant  future  before  you 
and  your  sister.  It  is  well  enough  for  you  to  know  it  early,  and 
keep  yourself  and  her  free  from  entanglements.  School  friend- 
ships and  flirtations  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  are  pretty  little 
spring  flowers,  —  very  charming  in  their  way  and  time ;  but  it 
is  n't  advisable  to  let  them  lead  us  into  compromising  ourselves 
for  life.  If  your  future  home  is  to  be  England,  of  course  you 
will  want  your  marriage  to  strengthen  your  position  there." 

"  My  future  home  will  never  be  England,"  said  Harry,  briefly. 
"  America  has  nursed  me  and  educated  me,  and  I  shall  always 
be,  heart  and  soul,  an  American.  My  life  must  be  acted  in  this 
country." 

The  other  suggestion  contained  in  Ellery  Davenport's  advice 
was  passed  over  without  a  word.  Harry  was  not  one  that 


ELLERY  DAVENPORT.  495 

could  discuss  his  private  relations  with  a  stranger.  He  could 
not  but  feel  obliged  to  Ellery  Davenport  for  the  interest  that  he 
had  manifested  in  him,  and  yet  there  was  something  about  this 
easy,  patronizing  manner  of  giving  advice  that  galled  him.  He 
was  not  yet  old  enough  not  to  feel  vexed  at  being  reminded  that 
he  was  young. 

It  seemed  but  a  few  hours,  and  Ellery  Davenport  was  gone 
again ;  and  yet  how  he  had  changed  everything  !  The  hour  that 
he  drove  up,  how  perfectly  innocently  happy  and  united  we  all 
were  1  Our  thoughts  needed  not  to  go  beyond  the  present  mo- 
ment :  the  moss  that  we  had  gathered  from  the  wood-pile,  and 
the  landscapes  that  we  were  going  to  make  with  it,  were  greater 
treasures  than  all  those  of  that  unknown  world  of  brightness  and 
cleverness  and  wealth  and  station,  out  of  which  Ellery  Daven- 
port had  shot  like  a  comet,  to  astonish  us,  and  then  go  back  and 
leave  us  in  obscurity. 

Harry  communicated  the  intelligence  given  him  by  Ellery 
Davenport,  first  to  me,  then  to  Tina  and  Esther  and  Mr.  Avery, 
but  begged  that  it  might  not  be  spoken  of  beyond  our  little  circle. 
It  could  and  it  should  make  no  change,  he  said.  But  can  ex- 
pectations of  such  magnitude  be  awakened  in  young  minds 
without  a  change  ? 

On  the  whole,  Ellery  Davenport  left  a  trail  of  brightness  be 
hind  him,  notwithstanding  my  sinister  suspicions.  "  How  open- 
handed  and  friendly  it  was  of  him,"  said  Esther,  "  to  come  up  here, 
when  he  has  so  much  on  his  hands!  He  told  father  that  he 
should  have  to  be  in  Washington  next  week,  to  talk  with  them 
there  about  French  affairs." 

"  And  I  hope  he  may  do  Tom  Jefferson  some  good ! "  said  Mr. 
Avery,  indignantly,  —  "  teach  him  what  he  is  doing  in  encourag- 
ing this  hideous,  atheistical  French  revolution !  Why,  it  will 
bring  discredit  on  republics,  and  put  back  the  cause  of  liberty  in 
Europe  a  century !  Davenport  sees  into  that  as  plainly  as  I  do." 

"  He 's  a  shrewd  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Rossiter.  "  I  heard  him 
talk  three  or  four  years  ago,  when  he  was  over  here,  and  he  was 
about  as  glib-tongued  a  Jacobin  as  you  'd  wish  to  see ;  but  now 
my  young  man  has  come  round  handsomely.  I  told  him  he 


496  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

ought  to  tell  Jefferson  just  how  the  thing  is  working.  I  go  for 
government  by  the  respectable  classes  of  society." 

"  Davenport  evidently  is  not  a,  regenerated  man,"  said  Mr. 
Avery,  thoughtfully ;  "  but  as  far  as  speculative  knowledge  goes, 
he  is  as  good  a  theologian  as  his  grandfather.  I  had  a  pretty 
thorough  talk  with  him,  before  we  went  to  bed  last  night,  and  he 
laid  down  the  distinctions  with  a  clearness  and  a  precision  that 
were  astonishing.  He  sees  right  through  that  point  of  the  differ- 
ence between  natural  and  moral  inability,  and  he  put  it  into  a 
sentence  that  was  as  neat  and  compact  and  clear  as  a  quartz 
crystal.  I  think  there  was  a  little  rub  in  his  mind  on  the  con- 
sistency of  the  freedom  of  the  will  with  the  divine  decrees,  and  I 
just  touched  him  off  with  an  illustration  or  two  there,  and  I 
could  see,  by  the  flash  of  his  eye,  how  quickly  he  took  it.  '  Dav- 
enport,' said  I  to  him, l  you  are  made  for  the  pulpit ;  you  ought 
to  be  in  it/ 

"  '  I  know  it,'  he  said, '  Mr.  Avery ;  but  the  trouble  is,  I  am 
not  good  enough.  I  think,'  he  said,  '  sometimes  I  should  like  to 
have  been  as  good  a  man  as  my  grandfather ;  but  then,  you  see, 
there 's  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  Devil,  who  all  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  that.' 

"  <  Well,'  says  I,  *  Davenport,  the  world  and  the  flesh  last  only 
a  little  while  — ' 

"  '  But  the  Devil  and  I  last  forever,  I  suppose  you  mean  to 
say,'  said  he,  getting  up  with  a  sort  of  careless  swing ;  and  then 
lie  said  he  must  go  to  bed ;  but  before  he  went  he  reached  out 
his  hand  and  smiled  on  me,  and  said, (  Good  night,  and  thank  you, 
Mr.  Avery.'  That  man  has  a  beautiful  smile.  It 's  like  a  spirit 
in  his  face." 

Had  Ellery  Davenport  been  acting  the  hypocrite  with  Mr. 
Avery  ?  Supposing  a  man  is  made  like  an  organ,  with  two  or 
three  banks  of  keys,  and  ever  so  many  stops,  so  that  he  can  play 
all  sorts  of  tunes  on  himself;  is  it  being  a  hypocrite  with  each 
person  to  play  precisely  the  tune,  and  draw  out  exactly  the 
stop,  which  he  knows  will  make  himself  agreeable  and  further 
his  purposes  ?  Ellery  Davenport  did  understand  the  New  Eng- 
land theology  as  thoroughly  as  Mr.  Avery.  He  knew  it  from 


ELLEEY  DAVENPORT.  497 

turret  to  foundation-stone.  He  knew  all  the  evidences  of  natural 
and  revealed  religion,  and,  when  he  chose  to  do  so,  could  make 
most  conclusive  arguments  upon  them.  He  had  a  perfect  ap- 
preciation of  devotional  religion,  and  knew  precisely  what  it 
would  do  for  individuals.  He  saw  into  politics  with  unerring 
precision,  and  knew  what  was  in  men,  and  whither  things  were 
tending.  His  unbelief  was  purely  and  simply  what  has  been 
called  in  New  England  the  natural  opposition  of  the  heart  to 
God.  He  loved  his  own  will,  and  he  hated  control,  and  he  de- 
termined, per  fas  aut  nefas,  to  carry  his  own  plans  in  this  world, 
and  attend  to  the  other  when  he  got  into  it.  To  have  his  own 
way,  and  to  carry  his  own  points,  and  to  do  as  he  pleased,  were 
the  ruling  purposes  of  his  life. 


498  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

LAST    DAYS    IN    CLOUDLAND. 

day  was  coming  now  that  the  idyl  of  Cloudland  must 
end,  and  our  last  term  wound  up  with  a  grand  dramatic 
entertainment. 

It  was  a  time-honored  custom  in  New  England  academies  to 
act  a  play  once  a  year  as  the  closing  exercise,  and  we  resolved 
that  our  performance  should  surpass  all  others  in  scenic  effect. 

The  theme  of  the  play  was  to  be  the  story  of  Jephthah's  daugh- 
ter, from  the  Old  Testament.  It  had  been  suggested  at  first  to 
take  Miss  Hannah  More's  sacred  drama  upon  this  subject ;  but 
Tina  insisted  upon  it  that  it  would  be  a  great  deal  better  to  write 
an  original  drama  ourselves,  each  one  taking  a  character,  and 
composing  one's  own  part. 

Tina  was  to  be  Jephthah's  daughter,  and  Esther  her  mother ; 
and  a  long  opening  scene  between  them  was  gotten  up  by  the  two 
in  a  private  session  at  their  desks  in  the  school-room  one  night, 
and,  when  perfected,  was  read  to  Harry  and  me  for  our  critical 
judgment.  The  conversation  was  conducted  in  blank  verse,  with 
the  usual  appropriate  trimmings  and  flourishes  of  that  species  of 
literature,  and,  on  the  whole,  even  at  this  time,  I  do  not  see  but 
that  it  was  quite  as  good  as  Miss  Hannah  More's. 

There  was  some  skirmishing  between  Harry  and  myself  about 
our  parts,  Harry  being,  as  I  thought,  rather  too  golden-haired  and 
blue-eyed  for  the  grim  resolve  and  fierce  agonies  of  Jephthah. 
Moreover,  the  other  part  was  to  be  that  of  Tina's  lover,  and  he 
was  to  act  very  desperate  verses  indeed,  and  I  represented  to 
Harry  privately  that  here,  for  obvious  reasons,  I  was  calculated 
to  succeed.  But  Tina  overruled  me  with  that  easy  fluency  of 
good  reasons  which  the  young  lady  always  had  at  command. 
"Harry  would  make  altogether  the  best  lover,"  she  said;  "he 
was  just  cut  out  for  a  lover.  Then,  besides,  what  does  Horace 


LAST  DAYS  IN  CLOUDLAND.  499 

know  about  it  ?  Harry  has  been  practising  for  six  months,  and 
Horace  has  n't  even  begun  to  think  of  such  things  yet." 

This  was  one  of  those  stringent  declarations  that  my  young 
lady  was  always  making  with  regard  to  me,  giving  me  to  under- 
stand that  her  whole  confidence  in  me  was  built  entirely  on  my 
discretion.  Well,  I  was  happy  enough  to  let  it  go  so,  for  Ellery 
Davenport  had  gone  like  an  evening  meteor,  and  we  had  ceased 
talking  and  thinking  about  him.  He  was  out  of  our  horizon  en- 
tirely. So  we  spouted  blank  verse  at  each  other,  morning,  noon, 
and  night,  with  the  most  cheerful  courage.  Tina  and  Harry  had, 
both  of  them,  a  considerable  share  of  artistic  talent,  and  made 
themselves  very  busy  in  drawing  and  painting  scenery,  —  a  work 
in  which  the  lady  principal,  Miss  Titcomb,  gave  every  assistance ; 
although,  as  Tina  said,  her  views  of  scenery  were  mostly  confined 
to  what  was  proper  for  tombstones.  "  But  then,"  she  added,  "  let 
her  have  the  whole  planning  of  my  grave,  with  a  great  weeping 
willow  over  it,  —  that  '11  be  superb  !  I  believe  the  weeping  wil- 
lows will  be  out  by  that  time,  and  we  can  have  real  branches. 
Won't  that  be  splendid ! " 

Then  there  was  the  necessity  of  making  our  drama  popular, 
by  getting  in  the  greatest  possible  number  of  our  intimate  friends 
and  acquaintances.  So  Jephthah  had  to  marshal  an  army  on  the 
stage,  and  there  was  no  end  of  paper  helmets  to  be  made.  In  fact, 
every  girl  in  school  who  could  turn  her  hand  to  anything  was 
making  a  paper  helmet. 

There  was  to  be  a  procession  of  Judaean  maidens  across  the 
stage,  bearing  the  body  of  Jephthah's  daughter  on  a  bier,  after 
the  sacrifice.  This  took  in  every  leading  girl  in  the  school ; 
and  as  they  were  all  to  be  dressed  in  white,  with  blue  ribbons, 
one  may  fancy  the  preparation  going  on  in  all  the  houses  far  and 
near.  There  was  also  to  be  a  procession  of  youths,  bearing  the 
body  of  the  faithful  lover,  who,  of  course,  was  to  die,  to  keep  the 
departed  company  in  the  shades. 

We  had  rehearsals  every  night  for  a  fortnight,  and  Harry, 
Tina,  and  I  officiated  as  stage-managers.  It  is  incredible  the 
trouble  we  had.  Esther  acted  the  part  of  Judaean  matron  to  per- 
fection, —  her  long  black  hair  being  let  down  and  dressed  after 


500  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

a  picture  in  the  Biblical  Dictionary,  which  Tina  insisted  upon 
must  be  authentic.  Esther,  however,  rebelled  at  the  nose-jewels. 
There  was  no  making  her  understand  the  Oriental  taste  of  the 
thing;  she  absolutely  declined  the  embellishment,  and  finally  it 
was  agreed  among  us  that  the  nose-jewels  should,  be  left  to  the 
imagination. 

Harry  looked  magnificent,  with  the  help  of  a  dark  ^austache, 
which  Tina  very  adroitly  compounded  of  black  ravelled  yarn, 
arranging  it  with  such  delicacy  that  it  had  quite  the  effect  of 
hair.  The  difficulty  was  that  in  impassioned  moments  the 
mustache  was  apt  to  get  awry;  and  once  or  twice,  while  on 
his  knees  before  Tina  in  tragical  attitudes,  this  occurrence  set 
her  off  into  hysterical  giggles,  which  spoiled  the  effect  of  the 
rehearsal.  But  at  last  we  contrived  a  plaster  which  the  most 
desperate  plunges-  of  agony  could  not  possibly  disarrange. 

As  my  eyes  and  hair  were  black,  when  I  had  mounted  a 
towering  helmet  overshadowed  by  a  crest  of  bear-skin,  fresh 
from  an  authentic  bear  that  Heber  Atwood  had  killed  only  two 
weeks  before,  I  made  a  most  fateful  and  portentous  Jephthah,  and 
flattered  myself  secretly  on  the  tragical  and  gloomy  emotions 
excited  in  the  breasts  of  divers  of  my  female  friends. 

I  composed  for  myself  a  most  towering  and  lofty  entrance 
scene,  when  I  came  in  glory  at  the  head  of  my  troops.  I  could 
not  help  plagiarizing  Miss  Hannah  More's  first  line :  — 

"  On  Jordan's  banks  proud  Ammon's  banners  wave." 

Any  writer  of  poems  will  pity  me,  when  he  remembers  his 
own  position,  if  he  has  ever  tried  to  make  a  verse  on  some 
subject  and  been  stuck  and  pierced  through  by  some  line  of 
another  poet,  which  so  sticks  in  his  head  and  his  memory  that 
there  is  no  possibility  of  his  saying  the  thing  any  other  way.  I 
tried  beginning,  — 

"  On  Salem's  plains  the  summer  sun  is  bright " ; 

but  when  I  looked  at  my  troop  of  helmets  and  the  very  startling 
banner  which  we  were  to  display,  and  reflected  that  Josh  Billings 
was  to  give  an  inspiring  blast  on  a  bugle  behind  the  scenes,  I 
perfectly  longed  to  do  the  glorious  and  magnificent,  and  this 
resounding  line  stood  right  in  my  way. 


LAST  DAYS  IN  CLOUDLAND.  501 

"  Well,  dear  me,  Horace,"  said  Tina,  "  take  it,  and  branch  off 
from  it,  —  make  a  text  of  it." 

And  so  I  did.  How  martial  and  Miltonic  I  was!  I  really 
made  myself  feel  quite  serious  and  solemn  with  the  pomp  and 
glory  of  my  own  language ;  but  I  contrived  to  introduce  into  my 
resounding  verses  a  most  touching  description  of  my  daughter, 
in  which  I  exhausted  Oriental  images  and  similes  on  her  charms. 
Esther  and  I  were  to  have  rather  a  tender  scene,  on  parting,  as 
she  was  to  be  my  wife ;  but  then  we  minded  it  not  a  jot.  The 
adroitness  with  which  both  these  young  girls  avoided  getting  into 
relations  that  might  savor  of  reality  was  an  eminent  instance  of 
feminine  tact.  And  while  Harry  was  playing  the  impassioned 
lover  at  Tina's  feet,  Esther  looked  at  him  slyly,  with  just  the 
slightest  shade  of  consciousness,  —  something  as  slight  as  the 
quivering  of  an  eyelash,  or  a  tremulous  flush  on  her  fair  cheek. 
There  was  fire  under  that  rose-colored  snow  after  all,  and  that 
was  what  gave  the  subtle  charm  to  the  whole  thing. 

We  had  an  earnest  discussion  among  us  four  as  to  what  was 
proper  to  be  done  with  the  lover.  Harry  insisted  upon-it,  that, 
after  tearing  his  hair  and  executing  all  the  other  proprieties  of 
despair,  he  should  end  by  falling  on  his  sword ;  and  he  gave  us 
two  or  three  extemporaneous  representations  of  the  manner  in 
which  he  intended  to  bring  out  this  last  scene.  How  we 
screamed  with  laughter  over  these  discussions,  as  Harry,  whose 
mat  of  curls  was  somewhat  prodigious,  ran  up  and  down  the 
room,  howling  distractedly,  running  his  fingers  through  his  hair 
until  each  separate  curl  stood  on  end,  and  his  head  was  about 
the  size  of  a  half-bushel !  We  nearly  killed  ourselves  laughing 
over  our  tragedy,  but  still  the  language  thereof  was  none  the  less 
broken-hearted  and  impassioned. 

Tina  was  vindictive  and  bloodthirsty  in  her  determination 
that  the  tragedy  should  be  of  the  deepest  dye.  She  exhibited 
the  ferocity  of  a  little  pirate  in  her  utter  insensibility  to  the 
details  of  blood  and  murder,  and  would  not  hear  of  any  conceal- 
ment, or  half-measures,  to  spare  anybody's  feelings.  She  insisted 
upon  being  stabbed  on  the  stage,  and  she  had  rigged  up  a  kitchen 
carving-knife  with  a  handle  of  gilt  paper,  ornamented  with 


502  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

various  breastpins  of  the  girls,  which  was  celebrated  in  florid 
terms  in  her  part  of  the  drama  as  a  Tyrian  dagger. 

«  Why  Tyrian,"  objected  Harry,  "  when  it  is  the  Jews  that  are 
fighting  the  Ammonites?" 

"  O  nonsense,  Harry !  Tyrian  sounds  a  great  deal  better,  and 
the  Ammonites,  I  don't  doubt,  had  Tyrian  daggers,"  said  Tina, 
who  displayed  a  feminine  facility  in  the  manufacture  of  facts. 
"  Tyre,  you  know,"  she  added,  "  was  the  country  where  all  sorts 
of  things  were  made:  Tyrian  purple  and  Tyrian  mantles, — 
why,  of  course  they  must  have  made  daggers,  and  the  Jews  must 
have  got  them,  —  of  course  they  must !  I  'm  going  to  have  it, 
not  only  a  Tyrian  dagger,  but  a  sacred  dagger,  taken  away  from 
a  heathen  temple  and  consecrated  to  the  service  of  the  Lord. 
And  only  see  what  a  sheath  I  have  made  for  it !  Why,  at  this 
distance  it  could  n't  be  told  from  gold !  And  how  do  you  sup- 
pose that  embossed  work  is  made  ?  Why,  it 's  different-colored 
grains  of  rice  and  gilt  paper  rolled  up ! " 

It  must  be  confessed  that  nobody  enjoyed  Tina's  successes 
more  heartily  than  she  did  herself.  I  never  knew  anybody  who 
had  a  more  perfect  delight  in  the  work  of  her  own  hands. 

It  was  finally  concluded,  in  full  concert,  that  the  sacrifice  was 
to  be  performed  at  an  altar,  and  here  came  an  opportunity  for 
Miss  Titcomb's  proficiency  in  tombstones  to  exercise  itself.  Our 
altar  was  to  be  like  the  lower  part  of  a  monument,  so  we  decided, 
and  Miss  Titcomb  had  numerous  patterns  of  this  kind,  subject  to 
our  approval.  It  was  to  be  made  life-size,  of  large  sheets  of 
pasteboard,  and  wreathed  with  sacrificial  garlands. 

Tina  was  to  come  in  at  the  head  of  a  chorus  of  wailing 
maidens,  who  were  to  sing  a  most  pathetic  lamentation  over  her. 
I  was  to  stand  grim  and  resolved,  with  my  eyes  rolled  up  into 
my  helmet,  and  the  sacrificial  Tyrian  dagger  in  my  hands,  when 
she  was  to  kneel  down  before  the  altar,  which  was  to  have  real 
flame  upon  it.  The  top  of  the  altar  was  made  to  conceal  a  large 
bowl  of  alcohol,  and  before  the  entering  of  the  procession  the 
lights  were  all  to  be  extinguished,  and  the  last  scene  was  to 
be  witnessed  by  the  lurid  glare  of  the  burning  light  on  the  altar. 
Any  one  who  has  ever  tried  the  ghostly,  spectral,  supernatural 


LAST  DAYS  IN   CLOUDLAND.  503 


appearance  which  his  very  dearest  friend  may  be  made  to 
by  this  simple  contrivance,  can  appreciate  how  very  sanguine 
our  hopes  must  have  been  of  the  tragical  power  of  this  denoue- 
ment. 

All  came  about  quite  as  we  could  have  hoped.  The  academy 
hall  was  packed  and  crammed  to  the  ceiling,  and  our  acting 
was  immensely  helped  by  the  loudly  expressed  sympathy  of  the 
audience,  who  entered  into  the  play  with  the  most  undisguised 
conviction  of  its  reality.  When  the  lights  were  extinguished, 
and  the  lurid  flame  flickered  up  on  the  altar,  and  Tina  entered 
dressed  in  white  with  her  long  hair  streaming  around  her,  and 
with  an  inspired  look  of  pathetic  resignation  in  her  large,  earnest 
eyes,  a  sort  of  mournful  shudder  of  reality  came  over  me,  and 
the  words  I  had  said  so  many  times  concerning  the  sacrifice  of 
the  victim  became  suddenly  intensely  real  ;  it  was  a  sort  of  stage 
illusion,  an  overpowering  belief  in  the  present. 

The  effect  of  the  ghastly  light  on  Tina's  face,  on  Esther's  and 
Harry's,  as  they  grouped  themselves  around  in  the  preconcerted 
attitudes,  was  really  overwhelming. 

It  had  been  arranged  that,  at  the  very  moment  when  my  hand 
was  raised,  Harry,  as  the  lover,  should  rush  forward  with  a 
shriek,  and  receive  the  dagger  in  his  own  bosom.  This  was  the 
last  modification  of  our  play,  after  many  successive  rehearsals, 
and  the  success  was  prodigious.  I  stabbed  Harry  to  the  heart, 
Tina  gave  a  piercing  shriek  and  fell  dead  at  his  side,  and  then 
I  plunged  the  dagger  into  my  own  heart,  and  the  curtain  fell, 
amid  real  weeping  and  wailing  from  many  unsophisticated,  soft- 
hearted old  women. 

Then  came  the  last  scene,  —  the  procession  of  youths  and 
maidens  across  the  stage,  bearing  the  bodies  of  the  two  lovers,  — 
the  whole  ending  in  an  admirably  constructed  monument,  over 
which  a  large  willow  was  seen  waving.  This  last  gave  to  Miss 
Titcomb,  as  she  said,  more  complete  gratification  than  any  scene 
that  had  been  exhibited.  The  whole  was  a  most  triumphant 
success. 

Heber  Atwood's  "  old  woman  "  declared  that  she  caught  her 
breath,  and  thought  she  "  should  ha'  fainted  clean  away  when  she 


504  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 


that  gal  come  in."  And  as  there  was  scarcely  a  house  in 
which  there  was  not  a  youth  or  a  maiden  who  had  borne  part  in 
the  chorus,  all  Cloudland  shared  in  the  triumph. 

By  way  of  dissipating  the  melancholy  feelings  consequent  upon 
the  tragedy,  we  had  a  farce  called  "  Our  Folks,"  which  was 
acted  extemporaneously  by  Harry,  Tina,  and  myself,  consisting 
principally  in  scenes  between  Harry  as  Sam  Lawson,  Tina  as 
Hepsie,  and  myself  as  Uncle  Fliakim,  come  in  to  make  a  pasto- 
ral visit,  and  exhort  them  how  to  get  along  and  manage  their 
affairs  more  prosperously.  There  had  been  just  enough  strain 
upon  our  nerves,  enough  reality  of  tragic  exultation,  to  excite 
that  hysterical  quickness  of  humor  which  comes  when  the  ner- 
vous system  is  well  up.  I  let  off  my  extra  steam  in  Uncle  Flia- 
kim with  a  good  will,  as  I  danced  in  in  my  black  silk  tights, 
knocking  down  the  spinning-wheel,  upsetting  the  cradle,  setting 
the  babies  to  crying,  and  starting  Hepsie's  tongue,  which  lost 
nothing  of  force  or  fluency  in  Tina's  reproduction.  How  the 
little  elf  could  have  transformed  herself  in  a  few  moments  into 
such  a  peaked,  sharp,  wiry-featured,  virulent-tongued  virago,  was 
matter  of  astonishment  to  us  all  ;  while  Harry,  with  a  suit  of  flut- 
tering old  clothes,  with  every  joint  dissolving  in  looseness,  and 
with  his  bushy  hair  in  a  sort  of  dismayed  tangle,  with  his  cheeks 
sucked  in  and  his  eyes  protruding,  gave  an  inimitable  Sam  Law- 
son. 

The  house  was  convulsed  ;  the  screams  and  shrieks  of  laugh- 
ter quite  equalled  the  moans  of  distress  in  our  tragedy. 

And  so  the  curtain  fell  on  our  last  exhibition  in  Cloudland. 
The  next  day  was  all  packing  of  trunks  and  taking  of  leave,  and 
last  words  from  Mr.  Eossiter  and  Mr.  Avery  to  the  school,  and 
settling  of  board-bills  and  school-bills,  and  sending  back  all  the 
breastpins  from  the  Tyrian  dagger,  and  a  confused  kicking  about 
of  helmets,  together  with  interchanges  between  various  Johns 
and  Joans  of  vows  of  eternal  constancy,  assurances  from  some 
fair  ones  that,  "  though  they  could  not  love,  they  should  always 
regard  as  a  brother,"  and  from  some  of  our  sex  to  the  same  pur- 
port toward  gentle-hearted  Aramintas,  —  very  pleasant  to  look 
upon  and  charming  to  dwell  upon,  —  who  were  not,  after  all, 


LAST   DAYS  IN   CLOUDLAm  505 

our  chosen  Aramintas  ;  and  there  was  no  end  of  three  and  four- 
paged  notes  written,  in  which  Susan  Ann  told  Susan  Jane  that 
"  never,  never  shall  we  forget  the  happy  hours  we  've  spent 
together  on  Cloudland  hill,  —  never  shall  the  hand  of  friend- 
ship grow  cold,  or  the  heart  of  friendship  cease  to  beat  with 
emotion." 

Poor  dear  souls  all  of  us !  We  meant  every  word  that  we 
said. 

It  was  only  the  other  day  that  I  called  in  a  house  on  Bea- 
con Street  to  see  a  fair  sister,  to  whom  on  this  occasion  I  ad- 
dressed a  most  pathetic  note,  and  who  sent  me  a  very  pretty 
curl  of  golden-brown  hair.  Now  she  is  Mrs.  Boggs,  and  the 
sylph  that  was  is  concealed  under  a  most  enormous  matron  ;  the 
room  trembles  when  she  sets  her  foot  down.  But  I  found  her 
heart  in  the  centre  of  the  ponderous  mass,  and,  as  I  am  some- 
what inclining  to  be  a  stout  old  gentleman,  we  shook  the  room 
with  our  merriment.  Such  is  life  ! 

The  next  day  Tina  was  terribly  out  of  spirits,  and  had  two  or 
three  hours  of  long  and  bitter  crying,  the  cause  of  which  none  of 
our  trio  couM  get  out  of  her. 

The  morning  that  we  were  to  leave  she  went  around  bidding 
good  by  to  everybody  and  everything,  for  there  was  not  a  crea- 
ture in  Cloudland  that  did  not  claim  some  part  in  her,  and 
for  whom  she  had  not  a  parting  word.  And,  finally,  I  proposed 
that  we  should  go  in  to  the  schoolmaster  together  and  have  a  last 
good  time  with  him,  and  then,  with  one  of  her  sudden  impulsive 
starts,  she  turned  her  back  on  me. 

"  No,  no,  Horace !     I  don't  want  to  see  him  any  more ! " 

I  was  in  blank  amazement  for  a  moment,  and  then  I  remem- 
bered the  correspondence  on  the  improvement  of  her  mind. 

"  Tina,  you  don't  tell  me,"  said  I,  "  that  Mr.  Rossiter  has  —  " 

She  turned  quickly  round  and  faced  on  the  defensive. 

"  Now,  Horace,  you  need  not  talk  to  me,  for  it  is  not  my  fault! 
Could  I  dream  of  such  a  thing,  now  ?  Could  I  ?  Mr.  Rossiter, 
of  all  the  men  on  earth  !  Why,  Horace,  I  do  love  him  clearly. 
I  never  had  any  father  —  that  cared  for  me,  at  least,"  she  said, 
with  a  quiver  in  her  voice  ;  "  and  he  was  beginning  to  seem  so 

22 


506  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

like  a  father  to  me.     I  loved  him,  I  respected  him,  I  reverenced 
him,  —  and  now  was  I  wrong  to  express  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  but,  Tina,"  said  I,  in  amazement,  "  Mr.  Rossiter  can- 
not —  he  could  not  mean  to  marry  you ! " 

"  No,  no.  He  says  that  he  would  not.  He  asked  nothing. 
It  all  seemed  to  come  out  before  he  thought  what  he  was  say- 
ing, —  that  he  has  been  thinking  altogether  too  much  of  me, 
and  that  when  I  go  it  will  seem  as  if  all  was  gone  that  he  cares 
for.  I  can't  tell  you  how  he  spoke,  Horace ;  there  was  some- 
thing fearful  in  it,  and  he  trembled.  0  Horace,  he  loves  me 
nobly,  disinterestedly,  truly ;  but  I  felt  guilty  for  it.  I  felt 
that  such  a  power  of  feeling  never  ought  to  rest  on  such  a  bit  of 
thistle-down  as  I  am.  Oh !  why  would  n't  he  stay  on  the  height 
where  I  had  put  him,  and  let  me  reverence  and  admire  him,  and 
have  him  to  love  as  my  father  ?  " 

"  But  Tina,  you  cannot,  you  must  not  now  —  " 

"  I  know  it,  Horace.  I  have  lost  him  for  a  friend  and  father 
and  guide  because  he  will  love  me  too  well." 

And  so  ends  Mr.  Jonathan  Rossiter's  Spartan  training. 

My  good  friends  of  the  American  Republic,  if  ever  we  come 
to  have  mingled  among  the  senators  of  the  United  States  speci- 
mens of  womankind  like  Tina  Percival,  we  men  remaining  such 
as  we  by  nature  are  and  must  be,  will  not  the  general  hue  of 
politics  take  a  decidedly  new  and  interesting  turn  ? 

Mr.  Avery  parted  from  us  with  some  last  words  of  counsel. 

"  You  are  going  into  college  life,  boys,  and  you  must  take  care 
of  your  bodies.  Many  a  boy  breaks  down  because  he  keeps  his 
country  appetite  and  loses  his  country  exercise.  You  must  bal- 
ance study  and  brain-work  by  exercise  and  muscle-work,  or 
you  '11  be  down  with  dyspepsia,  and  won't  know  what  ails  you. 
People  have  wondered  where  the  seat  of  original  sin  is ;  I  think 
it 's  in  the  stomach.  A  man  eats  too  much  and  neglects  exercise, 
and  the  Devil  has  him  all  his  own  way,  and  the  little  imps,  with 
their  long  black  fingers,  play  on  his  nerves  like  a  piano.  Never 
overwork  either  body  or  mind,  boys.  All  the  work  that  a  man 
can  do  that  can  be  rested  by  one  night's  sleep  is  good  for  him,  but 
fatigue  that  goes  into  the  next  day  is  always  bad.  Never  get 


LAST   DAYS  IN  CLOUDLAND.  507 

discouraged  at  difficulties.  I  give  you  both  this  piece  of  advice. 
"When  you  get  into  a  tight  place,  and  everything  goes  against  you 
till  it  seems  as  if  you  could  n't  hold  on  a  minute  longer,  never  give 
up  then,  for  that's  just  the  place  and  time  that  the  tide  '11  turn. 
Never  trust  to  prayer  without  using  every  means  in  your  power, 
and  never  use  the  means  without  trusting  in  prayer.  Get  your 
evidences  of  grace  by  pressing  forward  to  the  mark,  and  not  by 
groping  with  a  lantern  after  the  boundary -lines,  —  and  so,  boys, 
go,  and  God  bless  you ! " 


508  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

WE    ENTER    COLLEGE. 

TTARRY  and  I  entered  Cambridge  with  honor.  It  was  a 
•*"*-  matter  of  pride  with  Mr.  Rossiter  that  his  boys  should  go 
more  than  ready,  —  that  an  open  and  abundant  entrance  should  be 
administered  unto  them  in  the  classic  halls ;  and  so  it  was  with 
us.  We  were  fully  prepared  on  the  conditions  of  the  sophomore 
year,  and  thus,  by  Mr.  Rossiter's  drill,  had  saved  the  extra  ex- 
penses of  one  year  of  college  life. 

We  had  our  room  in  common,  and  Harry's  improved  means 
enabled  him  to  fit  it  up  and  embellish  it  in  an  attractive  manner. 
Tina  came  over  and  presided  at  the  inauguration,  and  helped  us 
hang  our  engravings,  and  fitted  up  various  little  trifles  of  shell 
and  moss  work,  —  memorials  of  Cloudland. 

Tina  was  now  visiting  at  the  Kitterys',  in  Boston,  dispensing 
smiles  and  sunbeams,  inquired  after  and  run  after  by  every  son 
of  Adam  who  happened  to  come  in  her  way,  all  to  no  purpose,  so 
far  as  her  heart  was  concerned. 

• 

"  Favors  to  none,  to  all  she  smiles  extends ; 
Oft  she  rejects,  but  never  once  offends." 

Tina's  education  was  now,  in  the  common  understanding  of 
society,  looked  upon  as  finished.  Harry's  and  mine  were  com- 
mencing ;  we  were  sophomores  in  college.  She  was  a  young 
lady  in  society  ;  yet  she  was  younger  than  either  of  us,  and  had, 
I  must  say,  quite  as  good  a  mind,  and  was  fully  as  capable  of 
going  through  our  college  course  with  us  as  of  having  walked 
thus  far. 

However,  with  her  the  next  question  was,  Whom  will  she 
marry?  —  a  question  that  my  young  lady  seemed  not  in  the 
slightest  hurry  to  answer.  I  flattered  myself  on  her  want  of 
susceptibility  that  pointed  in  the  direction  of  marriage.  She 


WE   ENTER   COLLEGE.  509 

could  feel  so  much  friendship,  —  such  true  affection,  —  and  yet 
was  apparently  so  perfectly  devoid  of  passion. 

She  was  so  brilliant,  and  so  fitted  to  adorn  society,  that  one 
would  have  thought  she  would  have  been  ennuyee  in  the  old  Ros- 
siter  house,  with  only  the  society  of  Miss  Mehitable  and  Polly ; 
but  Tina  was  one  of  those  whose  own  mind  and  nature  are  suf- 
ficient excitement  to  keep  them  always  burning.  She  loved  her 
old  friend  with  all  her  little  heart,  and  gave  to  her  all  her  charms 
and  graces,  and  wound  round  her  in  a  wild-rose  garland,  like  the 
eglantine  that  she  was  named  after. 

She  had  cultivated  her  literary  tastes  and  powers.  She  wrote 
and  sketched  and  painted  for  Miss  Mehitable,  and  Miss  Mehita- 
ble was  most  appreciative.  Her  strong,  shrewd,  well-cultivated 
mind  felt  and  appreciated  the  worth  and  force  of  everything  there 
was  in  Tina,  and  Tina  seemed  perfectly  happy  and  satisfied  with 
one  devoted  admirer.  However,  she  had  two,  for  Polly  still  sur- 
vived, being  of  the  dry  immortal  species,  and  seemed,  as  Tina 
told  her,  quite  as  good  as  new.  And  Tina  once  more  had 
uproarious  evenings  with  Miss  Mehitable  and  Polly,  delighting 
herself  with  the  tumults  of  laughter  which  she  awakened. 

She  visited  and  patronized  Sam  Lawson's  children,  gave 
them  candy  and  told  them  stories,  and  now  and  then  brought 
home  Hepsie's  baby  for  a  half-day,  and  would  busy  herself 
dressing  it  up  in  something  new  of  her  own  invention  and  con- 
struction. Poor  Hepsie  was  one  of  those  women  fated  always  to 
have  a  baby  in  which  she  seemed  to  have  no  more  maternal 
pleasure  than  an  old  fowling-piece.  But  Tina  looked  at  her  on 
the  good-natured  and  pitiful  side,  although,  to  be  sure,  she  did 
study  her  with  a  view  to  dramatic  representation,  and  made  no 
end  of  capital  of  her  in  this  way  in  the  bosom  of  her  own  family. 

Tina's  mimicry  and  mockery  had  not  the  slightest  tinge  of 
contempt  or  ill-feeling  in  it ;  it  was  pure  merriment,  and  seemed 
to  be  just  as  natural  to  her  as  the  freakish  instincts  of  the  mock- 
ing-bird, who  sits  in  the  blossoming  boughs  above  your  head,  and 
sends  back  every  sound  that  you  hear  with  a  wild  and  airy 
gladness. 

Tina's  letters   to  us  were  full  of  this  mirthful,  effervescent 


510  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

sparkle,  to  which  everything  in  Oldtown  afforded  matter  of 
amusement ;  and  the  margins  of  them  were  scrawled  with  droll 
and  lifelike  caricatures,  in  which  we  recognized  Sam  Lawson, 
and  Hepsie,  and  Uncle  Fliakim,  and,  in  fact,  all  the  Oldtown 
worthies,  —  not  even  excepting  Miss  Mehitable  and  Polly,  the 
minister  and  his  lady,  my  grandmother,  Aunt  Lois,  and  Aunt 
Keziah.  What  harm  was  there  in  all  this,  when  Tina  assured 
us  that  aunty  read  the  letters  before  they  went,  and  laughed 
until  she  cried  over  them? 

"  But,  after  all,"  I  said  to  Harry  one  day,  "  it 's  rather  a  steep 
thing  for  girls  that  have  kept  step  with  us  in  study  up  to  this 
point,  and  had  their  minds  braced  just  as  ours  have  been,  with 
all  the  drill  of  regular  hours  and  regular  lessons,  to  be  suddenly 
let  down,  with  nothing  in  particular  to  do." 

"Except  to  wait  the  coming  man,"  said  Harry,  "who  is  to 
teach  her  what  to  do." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "in  the  interval,  while  this  man  is  coming, 
what  has  Tina  to  do  but  to  make  a  frolic  of  life  ?  —  to  live  like  a 
bobolink  on  a  clover-head,  to  sparkle  like  a  dewdrop  in  a  thorn- 
bush,  to  whirl  like  a  bubble  on  a  stream  ?  Why  could  n't  she  as 
well  find  the  coming  man  while  she  is  doing  something  as  while 
she  is  doing  nothing  ?  Esther  and  you  found  each  other  while" 
you  were  working  side  by  side,  your  minds  lively  and  braced, 
toiling  at  the  same  great  ideas,  knowing  each  other  in  the  very 
noblest  part  of  your  natures  ;  and  you  are  true  companions  ;  it  is 
a  mating  of  souls  and  not  merely  of  bodies." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Harry,  "  I  know,  too,  that  in  these  very 
things  that  I  set  my  heart  on  in  the  college  course  Esther  is  by 
far  my  superior.  You  know,  Horace,  that  she  was  ahead  of  us 
in  both  Greek  and  mathematics ;  and  why  should  she  not  go 
through  the  whole  course  with  us  as  well  as  the  first  part  ?  The 
fact  is,  a  man  never  sees  a  subject  thoroughly  until  he  sees  what 
a  woman  will  think  of  it,  for  there  is  a  woman's  view  of  every 
subject,  which  has  a  different  shade  from  a  man's  view,  and  that 
is  what  you  and  I  have  insensibly  been  absorbing  in  all  our 
course  hitherto.  How  splendidly  Esther  lighted  up  some  of  those 
passages  of  the  Greek  tragedy !  and  what  a  sparkle  and  glitter 


WE   ENTER   COLLEGE.  511 

• 

there  were  in  some  of  Tina's  suggestions  !  All  I  know,  Horace,  is 
that  it  is  confoundedly  dull  being  without  them  ;  these  fellows 
are  well  enough,  but  they  are  cloddish  and  lumpish." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  that  is  n't  the  worst  of  it.  When  such  a  gay 
creature  of  the  elements  as  Tina  is  has  nothing  earthly  to  do  to 
steady  her  mind  and  task  her  faculties,  and  her  life  becomes 
a  mere  glitter,  and  her  only  business  to  amuse  the  passing  hour, 
it  throws  her  open  to  all  sorts  of  temptations  frqm  that  coming 
man,  whoever  he  may  be.  Can  we  wonder  that  girls  love  to 
flirt,  and  try  their  power  on  lovers?  And  then  they  are  fail- 
game  for  men  who  want  to  try  their  powers  on  them,  and  some 
man  who  has  a  vacation  in  his  life  purpose,  and  wants  something 
to  amuse  him,  makes  an  episode  by  getting  up  some  little  romance, 
which  is  an  amusement  to  him,  but  all  in  all  to  her.  Is  that  fair  ?  " 

"  True,"  said  Harry,  "  and  there 's  everything  about  Tina  to 
tempt  one ;  she  is  so  dazzling  and  bewildering  and  exciting  that 
a  man  might  intoxicate  himself  with  her  for  the  mere  pleasure 
of  the  thing,  as  one  takes  opium  or  champagne ;  and  that  sort 
of  bewilderment  and  intoxication  girls  often  mistake  for  love !  I 
would  to  Heaven,  Horace,  that  I  were  as  sure  that  Tina  loves 
you  as  I  am  that  Esther  loves  me." 

"  She  does  love  me  with  her  heart"  said  I,  "  but  not  with  her 
imagination.  The  trouble  with  Tina,  Harry,  is  this :  she  is  a 
woman  that  can  really  and  truly  love  a  man  as  a  sister,  or  as 
a  friend,  or  as  a  daughter,  and  she  is  a  woman  that  no  man  can 
love  in  that  way  long.  She  feels  nothing  but  affection,  and  she 
always  creates  passion.  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  she 
loves  me  dearly,  but  I  have  a  sort  of  vision  that  between  her 
and  me  will  come  some  one  who  will  kindle  her  imagination  ; 
and  all  the  more  so  that  she  has  nothing  serious  to  do,  nothing  to 
keep  her  mind  braced,  and  her  intellectual  and  judging  faculties 
in  the  ascendant,  but  is  fairly  set  adrift,  just  like  a  little  flowery 
boat,  without  steersman  or  oars,  on  a  bright,  swift-rushing  river. 
Did  you  ever  notice,  Harry,  what  a  singular  effect  Ellery  Dav- 
enport seems  to  have  on  her  ?  "  ^ 

"  No,"  said  Harry,  starting  and  looking  surprised.  "  Why, 
Horace,  Ellery  Davenport  is  a  good  deal  older  than  she  is,  and 
a  married  man  too." 


512  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  Well,  Harry,  did  n't  you  ever  hear  of  married  men  that  liked 
to  try  experiments  with  girls  ?  and  in  our  American  society  they 
can  do  it  all  the  more  safely,  because  here,  thank  Heaven !  no- 
body ever  dreams  but  what  marriage  is  a  perfect  regulator  and 
safeguard." 

"But,"  said  Harry,  rubbing  his  eyes  like  a  person  just  waking 
up,  "  Horace,  it  must  be  the  mere  madness  of  jealousy  that 
would  put  such  a  thing  into  your  head.  Why,  there  has  n't 
been  the  slightest  foundation  for  it." 

"  That  is  to  say,  Harry,  you  've  been  in  love  with  Esther,  and 
your  eyes  and  ears  and  senses  have  all  run  one  way.  But 
I  have  lived  in  Tina,  and  I  believe  I  have  a  sort  of  divining 
power,  so  that  I  can  almost  see  into  her  heart.  I  feel  in  myself 
how  things  affect  her,  and  I  know,  by  feeling  and  sensation,  that 
from  her  childhood  Ellery  Davenport  has  had  a  peculiar  mag- 
netic effect  upon  her." 

"  But,  Horace,  he  is  a  married  man,"  persisted  Harry. 

"  A  fascinating  married  man,  victimized  by  a  crazy  wife,  and 
ready  to  throw  himself  on  the  sympathies  of  womanhood  in  this 
affliction.  The  fair  sex  are  such  Good  Samaritans  that  some 
fellows  make  capital  of  their  wounds  and  bruises." 

"  Well,  but,"  said  Harry,  "  there  's  not  the  slightest  thing 
that  leads  me  to  think  that  he  ever  cared  particularly  about 
Tina." 

"  That 's  because  you  are  Tina's  brother,  and  not  her  lover," 
said  I.  "I  remember  as  long  ago  as  when  we  were  children, 
spending  Easter  at  Madam  Kittery's,  how  Ellery  Davenport's 
eyes  used  to  follow  her,  —  how  she  used  constantly  to  seem  to 
excite  and  interest  him  ;  and  all  this  zeal  about  your  affairs,  and 
his  coming  up  to  Oldtown,  and  cultivating  Miss  Mehitable's 
acquaintance  so  zealously,  and  making  himself  so  necessary  to 
her ;  and  then  he  has  always  been  writing  letters  or  sending 
messages  to  Tina,  and  then,  when  he  was  up  in  Cloudland,  did  n't 
you. see  how  constantly  his  eyes  followed  her?  He  came  there 
for  nothing  but  to  see  her,  —  I  'm  perfectly  sure  of  it." 

"  Well,  Horace,  you  are  about  as  absurd  as  a  lover  need  be !  " 
said  Harry.  "  Mr.  Davenport  is  rather  a  conceited  man  of  the 


WE  ENTER   COLLEGE.  513 

world ;  I  think  he  patronized  me  somewhat  extensively ;  but  all 
this  about  Tina  is  a  romance  of  your  own  spinning,  you  may  be 
sure  of  it." 

This  conversation  occurred  one  Saturday  morning,  while  we 
were  dressing  and  arraying  ourselves  to  go  into  Boston,  where 
we  had  engaged  to  dine  at  Madam  Kittery's. 

From  the  first  of  our  coming  to  Cambridge,  we  had  remem- 
bered our  old-time  friendship  for  the  Kitterys,  and  it  was  an 
arranged  thing  that  we  were  to  dine  with  them  every  Saturday. 
The  old  Kittery  mansion  we  had  found  the  same  still,  charming, 
quaint,  inviting  place  that  it  seemed  to  us  in  our  childhood.  The 
years  that  had  passed  over  the  silvery  head  of  dear  old  Madam 
Kittery  had  passed  lightly  and  reverently,  each  one  leaving  only 
a  benediction. 

She  was  still  to  be  found,  when  we  called,  seated,  as  in  days 
long  ago,  on  her  little  old  sofa  in  the  sunny  window,  and  with 
her  table  of  books  before  her,  reading  her  Bible  and  Dr.  John- 
son, and  speaking  on  "  Peace  and  good-will  to  men." 

As  to  Miss  Debby,  she  was  as  up  and  down,  as  high-stepping 
and  outspoken  and  pleasantly  sub-acid  as  ever.  The  French 
Revolution  had  put  her  in  a  state  of  good-humor  hardly  to  be 
conceived  of.  It  was  so  delightful  to  have  all  her  theories  of  the 
bad  effects  of  republics  on  lower  classes  illustrated  and  confirmed 
in  such  a  striking  manner,  that  even  her  indignation  at  the  de- 
struction of  such  vast  numbers  of  the  aristocracy  was  but  a 
slight  feature  in  comparison  with  it. 

She  kept  the  newspapers  and  magazines  at  hand  which  con- 
tained all  the  accounts  of  the  massacres,  mobbings,  and  outrages, 
and  read  them,  in  a  high  tone  of  voice,  to  her  serving-women, 
butler,  and  footman  after  family  prayers.  She  catechized  more 
energetically  than  ever,  and  bore  more  stringently  on  ordering 
one's  self  lowly  and  reverently  to  one's  betters,  enforcing  her 
remarks  by  the  blood-and-thunder  stories  of  the  guillotine  in 
France. 

We  were  hardly  seated  in  the  house,  and  had  gone  over  the 
usual  track  of  inquiries  which  fill  up  the  intervals,  when  she 
burst  forth  on  us,  triumphant. 

22*  GQ. 


514  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  Well,  my  English  papers  have  come  in.  Have  you  seen  the 
last  news  from  France  ?  They  're  at  it  yet,  hotter  than  ever. 
One  would  think  that  murdering  the  king  and  queen  might  have 
satisfied  them,  but  it  don't  a  bit.  Everybody  is  at  it  now,  cutting 
everybody's  else  throat,  and  there  really  does  seem  to  be  a  pros- 
pect that  the  whole  French  nation  will  become  extinct." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Harry,  with  an  air  of  amusement.  "  Well, 
Miss  Debby,  I  suppose  you  think  that  would  be  the  best  way 
of  settling  things." 

"  Don't  know  but  it  would,"  said  Miss  Debby,  putting  on  her 
spectacles  in  a  manner  which  pushed  her  cap-border  up  into  a 
bristling,  helmet-like  outline,  and  whirling  over  her  file  of  papers, 
seemingly  with  a  view  to  edifying  us  with  the  most  startling  mor- 
sels of  French  history  for  the  six  months  past. 

"  Here 's  the  account  of  how  they  worshipped  '  the  Goddess 
of  Reason ' !  "  she  cried,  eying  us  fiercely,  as  if  we  had  been  part 
and  party  in  the  transaction.  "  Here 's  all  about  how  their 
philosophers  and  poets,  and  what  not,  put  up  a  drab,  and  wor- 
shipped her  as  their  '  Goddess  of  Reason ' !  And  then  they 
annulled  the  Sabbath,  and  proclaimed  that  '  Death  is  an  Eter- 
nal Sleep  ' !  Now,  that  is  just  what  Tom  Jefferson  likes  ;  it 's 
what  suits  him.  I  read  it  to  Ellery  Davenport  yesterday,  to 
show  him  what  his  principles  come  to." 

Harry  immediately  hastened  to  assure  Miss  Debby  that  we 
were  stanch  Federalists,  and  not  in  the  least  responsible  for  any 
of  the  acts  or  policy  of  Thomas  Jefferson. 

"  Don't  know  anything  about  that ;  you  see  it 's  the  Democrats 
that  have  got  the  country,  and  are  running  as  hard  as  they  can 
after  France.  Ah,  here  it  is,"  Miss  Debby  added,  still  turning 
over  her  files  of  papers.  "  Here  are  the  particulars  of  the  execu- 
tion of  the  queen.  You  can  see,  —  they  had  her  on  a  common 
cart,  hands  tied  behind  her,  rattling  and  jolting,  with  all  the  vile 
fish  women  and  dirty  drabs  of  Paris  leering  and  jeering  at  her, 
and  they  even  had  the  cruelty,"  she  added,  coming  indignantly 
at  us  as  if  we  w^re  responsible  for  it,  "  to  stop  the  cart  in  front 
of  her  palace,  so  that  she  might  be  agonized  at  seeing  her  former 
home,  and  they  might  taunt  her  in  her  agonies  !  Anybody  that 


WE  ENTER   COLLEGE.  515 

can  read  that,  and  not  say  the  French  are  devils,  I  'd  like  to 
know  what  they  are  made  of ! " 

"  Well,"  said  Harry,  undismayed  by  the  denunciations  ;  "  the 
French  are  an  exceedingly  sensitive  and  excitable  people,  who 
had  been  miseducated  and  mismanaged,  and  taught  brutality  and 
cruelty  by  the  examples  of  the  clergy  and  nobility." 

"  Excitable  fiddlesticks ! "  said  Miss  Debby,  who,  like  my 
grandmother,  had  this  peculiar  way  of  summing  up  an  argu~ 
ment.  "  I  don't  believe  in  softening  sin  and  iniquity  by  such 
sayings  as  that." 

"  But  you  must  think,"  said  Harry,  "  that  the  French  are 
human  beings,  and  only  act  as  any  human  beings  would  under 
their  circumstances/' 

"  Don't  believe  a  word  of  it ! "  said  she,  shortly.  "  I  agree 
with  the  man  who  said,  *  God  made  two  kinds  of  nature,  — • 
human  nature  and  French  nature.'  Voltaire,  was  n't  it,  him- 
self,  that  said  the  French  were  a  compound  of  the  tiger  and 
the  monkey  ?  I  wonder  what  Tom  Jefferson  thinks  of  his  beau- 
tiful,  darling  French  Republic  now  !  I  presume  he  likes  it.  I 
don't  doubt  it  is  just  such  a  state  of  things  as  he  is  trying  to  bring 
to  pass  here  in  America." 

"O,"  said  I,  "the  Federalists  will  head  him  at  the  next 
election." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  your  Democrats  and  your  Fed- 
eralists," said  she.  "  I  thank  Heaven  I  wash  my  hands  of  this 
government." 

"  And  does  King  George  still  reign  here  ?  "  said  Harry. 

""Certainly  he  does,  young  gentleman  !  Whatever  happens  to 
this  government,  /  have  no  part  in  it." 

Miss  Debby,  upon  this,  ushered  us  to  the  dinner-table,  and 
said  grace  in  a  resounding  and  belligerent  voice,  and,  sitting 
down,  began  to  administer  the  soup  to  us  with  great  determi- 
nation. 

Old  Madam  Kittery,  who  had  listened  with  a  patient  smile  to 
all  the  preceding  conversation,  now  began  in  a  gentle  aside  to 
me. 

"  I  really  don't  think  it  is  good  for  Debby  to  read  those  bloody- 


516  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

bone  stories  morning,  noon,  and  night,  as  she  does,"  she  said. 
"  She  really  almost  takes  away  my  appetite  some  days,  and  it 
does  seem  as  if  she  would  n't  talk  about  anything  else.  Now, 
Horace,"  she  said  to  me,  appealingly,  "  the  Bible  says  '  Charity 
rejoiceth  not  in  iniquity,'  and  I  can't  help  feeling  that  Debby 
talks  as  if  she  were  really  glad  to  see  those  poor  French  making 
such  a  mess  of  things.  I  can't  feel  so.  If  they  are  French, 
they're  our  brothers,  you  know,  and  Debby  really  seems  to  go 
against  the  Bible,  —  not  that  she  means  to,  dear,"  she  added, 
earnestly,  laying  her  hand  on  mine ;  "  Debby  is  an  excellent 
woman ;  but,  between  you  and  me,  I  think  she  is  a  little  ex- 
citable." 

"  What 's  that  mother 's  saying  ?  "  said  Miss  Debby,  who  kept 
a  strict  survey  over  all  the  sentiments  expressed  in  her  house- 
hold. "  What  was  mother  saying  ?  " 

"  I  was  saying,  Debby,  that  I  did  n't  think  it  did  any  good  for 
you  to  keep  reading  over  and  over  those  dreadful  things." 

"  And  who  does  keep  reading  them  over  ? "  said  Miss  Debby, 
"  I  should  like  to  know.  I  'm  sure  I  don't ;  except  when  it  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  instruct  the  servants  and  put  them  on 
their  guard.  I  'm  sure  I  am  as  averse  to  such  details  as  any- 
body can  be." 

Miss  Debby  said  this  with  that  innocent  air  with  which  good 
sort  of  people  very  generally  maintain  that  they  never  do  things 
which  most  of  their  acquaintances  consider  them  particular  nui- 
sances for  doing. 

"  By  the  by,  Horace,"  said  Miss  Debby,  by  way  of  changing 
the  subject,  "  have  you  seen  Ellery  Davenport  since  he  came 
home  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  with  a  sudden  feeling  as  if  my  heart  was  sinking 
down  into  my  boots.  "  Has  he  come  home  to  stay  ?  " 

"  0  yes,"  said  Miss  Debby  ;  "  his  dear,  sweet,  model,  Republi- 
can France  grew  too  hot  to  hold  him.  He  had  to  flee  to  England, 
and  now  he  has  concluded  to  come  home  and  make  what  mischief 
he  can  here,  with  his  democratic  principles  and  his  Rousseau 
and  all  the  rest  of  them." 

"  Debby  is  n't  as  set  against  Ellery  as  she  seems  to  be,"  said 


WE  ENTER   COLLEGE.  517 

the  old  lady,  in  an  explanatory  aside  to  me.  "  You  know,  dear, 
he  's  her  cousin." 

"  And  you  really  think  he  intends  to  live  in  this  country  for 
the  future  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Miss  Debby.  "  You  know  that 
poor,  miserable,  crazy  wife  of  his  is  dead,  and  my  lord  is  turned 
loose  on  society  as  a  widower  at  large,  and  all  the  talk  here  in 
good  circles  is,  Who  is  the  blessed  woman  that  shall  be  Mrs. 
Ellery  Davenport  the  second?  The  girls  are  all  pulling  caps 
for  him,  of  course." 

It  was  perfectly  ridiculous  and  absurd,  but  I  suddenly  lost  all 
appetite  for  my  dinner,  and  sat  back  in  my  chair  playing  with 
my  knife  and  fork,  until  the  old  lady  said  to  me  compassion- 
ately :  — 

"  Why,  dear,  you  don't  seem  to  be  eating  anything !  Debby, 
put  an  oyster-pate  on  Horace's  plate ;  he  don't  seem  to  relish 
his  chicken." 

I  had  to  submit  to  the  oyster-pate,  and  sit  up  and  eat  it  like  a 
man,  to  avoid  the  affectionate  importunity  of  my  dear  old  friend. 
In  despair,  I  plunged  into  the  subject  least  agreeable  to  me,  and 
remarked  :  — 

"  Mr.  Davenport  is  a  very  brilliant  man,  and  I  suppose  in 
very  good  circumstances ;  is  he  not  ? " 

"  Yes,  enormously  rich,"  said  Miss  Debby.  "  He  still  passes 
for  young,  with  that  face  of  his  that  never  will  grow  old,  I  be- 
lieve. And  then  he  has  a  tongue  that  could  wheedle  a  bird  out 
of  a  tree ;  so  I  don't  know  what  is  to  hinder  him  from  having  as 
many  wives  as  Solomon,  if  he  feels  so  disposed.  I  don't  imagine 
there  is  anybody  would  say  'No'  to  him." 

"  Well,  I  hope  he  will  marry  a  good  girl,"  said  the  old  lady, 
"poor  dear  boy.  I  always  loved  Ellery;  and  he  would  make 
any  woman  happy,  I  am  sure." 

"  That  depends,"  said  Miss  Debby,  u  on  what  the  woman 
wants.  If  she  wants  laces  and  cashmere  shawls,  and  horses  and 
carriages,  and  a  fine  establishment,  Ellery  Davenport  will  give 
her  those.  But  if  she  wants  a  man  to  love  her  all  her  life,  that 's 
what  Ellery  Davenport  can't  do  for  any  woman.  He  is  a  man 


518  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

that  never  cares  for  anything  he  has  got.  It 's  always  the  thing 
that  he  has  n't  got  that  he 's  after.  It 's  the  <  pot  of  money  at  the 
end  of  the  rainbow/  or  the  *  philosopher's  stone,'  or  any  other 
thing  that  keeps  a  man  all  his  life  on  a  canter,  and  never  getting 
anywhere.  And  no  woman  will  ever  be  anything  to  him  but  a 
temporary  diversion.  He  can  amuse  himself  in  too  many  ways 
to  want  her" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  but  when  a  man  marries  he  prom- 
ises to  cherish  her." 

"  My  dear  mother,  that  is  in  the  Church  Service,  and  I  assure 
you  Ellery  Davenport  has  got  beyond  that.  He's  altogether 
too  fine  and  wise  and  enlightened  to  think  that  a  man  should 
spend  his  days  in  cherishing  a  woman  merely  because  he 
went  through  the  form  of  marriage  with  her  in  church.  Much 
cherishing  his  crazy  wife  got  of  him !  but  he  used  his  affliction 
to  get  half  a  dozen  girls  in  love  with  him,  so  that  he  might  be 
cherished  himself.  I  tell  you  what,  —  Ellery  Davenport  lays 
out  to  marry  a  real  angel.  He 's  to  swear  and  she 's  to  pray ! 
He  is  to  wander  where  he  likes,  and  she  is  always  to  meet  him 
with  a  smile  and  ask  no  questions.  That  is  the  part  for  Mrs 
Ellery  Davenport  to  act." 

"I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  Debby,"  said  the  old  lady. 
" You '11  see  now,  —  you'll  see." 


NIGHT  TALKS.  -  519 

CHAPTER    XLI. 

NIGHT    TALKS. 

WE  walked  home  that  night  by  starlight,  over  the  long 
bridge  between  Boston  and  Cambridge,  and  watched  the 
image  of  the  great  round  yellow  moon  just  above  the  horizon, 
breaking  and  shimmering  in  the  water  into  a  thousand  crystal 
fragments,  like  an  orb  of  golden  glass.  We  stopped  midway  in 
the  calm  obscurity,  with  our  arms  around  each  other,  and  had 
one  of  those  long  talks  that  friends,  even  the  most  confidential, 
can  have  only  in  the  darkness.  Cheek  to  cheek  under  the  soft 
dim  mantle  of  the  starlight,  the  night  flowers  of  the  innermost 
soul  open. 

We  talked  of  our  loves,  our  hopes,  of  the  past,  the  present, 
and  the  great  hereafter,  in  which  we  hoped  forever  to  mingle. 
And  then  Harry  spoke  to  me  of  his  mother,  and  told  in  burn- 
ing words  of  that  life  of  bitterness  and  humiliation  and  sorrow 
through  which  he  had  passed  with  her. 

"  0  Harry,"  said  I,  "  did  it  not  try  your  faith,  that  God  should 
have  left  her  to  suffer  all  that?" 

"  No,  Horace,  no,  because  in  all  that  suffering  she  conquered,  — 
she  was  more  than  conqueror.  O,  I  have  seen  such  divine  peace 
in  her  eyes,  at  the  very  time  when  everything  earthly  was  fail- 
ing her !  Can  I  ever  doubt  ?  I  who  saw  into  heaven  when 
she  entered?  No,  I  have  seen  her  crowned,  glorified,  in  my 
soul  as  plainly  as  if  it  had  been  a  vision." 

At  that  moment  I  felt  in  myself  that  magnetic  vibration  of 
the  great  central  nerves  which  always  prefaced  my  spiritual 
visions,  and  looking  up  I  saw  that  the  beautiful  woman  I  had 
seen  once  before  was  standing  by  Harry,  but  now  more  glow- 
ing and  phosphorescent  than  I  saw  her  last ;  there  was  a  divine, 
sweet,  awful  radiance  in  her  eyes,  as  she  raised  her  hands  above 
his  head,  he,  meanwhile,  stooping  down  and  looking  intently 
into  the  water. 


520  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"Harry,"  said  I,  after  a  few  moments  of  silence,  "do  you 
believe  your  mother  sees  and  knows  what  you  do  in  this  world, 
and  watches  over  you?" 

"  That  has  always  been  one  of  those  things  that  I  have  be- 
lieved without  reasoning,"  said  Harry,  musingly.  "I  never 
could  help  believing  it ;  and  there  have  been  times  in  my  life 
when  I  felt  so  certain  that  she  must  be  near  me,  that  it  seemed 
as  though,  if  I  spoke,  she  must  answer,  —  if  I  reached  out  my 
hand,  it  would  touch  hers.  It  is  one  of  my  instinctive  certainties. 
It  is  curious,"  he  added,  "  that  the  difference  between  Esther  and 
myself  is  just  the  reverse  kind  of  that  which  generally  subsists 
between  man  and  woman.  She  has  been  all  her  life  so  drilled  in 
what  logicians  call  reasoning,  that,  although  she  has  a  glorious 
semi-spiritual  nature,  and  splendid  moral  instincts,  she  never 
trusts  them.  She  is  like  an  eagle  that  should  insist  upon  climb- 
ing a  mountain  by  beak  and  claw  instead  of  using  wings.  She 
must  always  see  the  syllogism  before  she  will  believe." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  I,  "  I  have  always  felt  the  tyranny  of  the 
hard  New  England  logic,  and  it  has  kept  me  from  really  know- 
ing what  to  believe  about  many  phenomena  of  my  own  mind 
that  are  vividly  real  to  me."  Here  I  faltered  and  hesitated,  and 
the  image  that  seemed  to  stand  by  us  slowly  faded.  I  could  not 
and  did  not  say  to  Harry  how  often  I  had  seen  it. 

"After  all  I  have  heard  and  thought  on  this  subject,"  said 
Harry,  "  my  religious  faith  is  what  it  always  was,  —  a  deep,  in- 
stinctive certainty,  an  embrace  by  the  soul  of  something  which  it 
could  not  exist  without.  My  early  recollections  are  stronger  than 
anything  else  of  perfect  and  utter  helplessness,  of  troubles  entirely 
beyond  all  human  aid.  My  father  —  "  He  stopped  and  shud- 
dered. "  Horace,. he  was  one  of  those  whom  intemperance  makes 
rnad.  For  a  great  part  of  his  time  he  was  a  madman,  with  all 
the  cunning,  all  the  ingenuity,  the  devilishness  of  insanity,  and  I 
have  had  to  stand  between  him  and  my  mother,  and  to  hide 
Tina  out  of  his  way."  He  seemed  to  shudder  as  one  convulsed. 
"One  does  not  get  over  such  a  childhood,"  he  said.  "It  has 
made  all  my  religious  views,  my  religious  faith,  rest  on  two 
ideas,  —  man's  helplessness,  and  God's  helpfulness.  We  are 


NIGHT  TALKS.  521 

sent  into  this  world  in  the  midst  of  a  blind,  confused  jangle  of 
natural  laws,  which  we  cannot  by  any  possibility  understand,  and 
which  cut  their  way  through  and  over  and  around  us.  They 
tell  us  nothing ;  they  have  no  sympathy ;  they  hear  no  prayer ; 
they  spare  neither  vice  nor  virtue.  And  if  we  have  no  friend 
above  to  guide  us  through  the  labyrinth,  if  there  is  no  Father's 
heart,  no  helping  hand,  of  what  use  is  life  ?  I  would  throw  my- 
self into  this  river,  and  have  it  over  with  at  once." 

"  I  always  noticed  your  faith  in  prayer,"  said  I.  "  But  how 
can  it  consist  with  this  known  inflexibility  of  natural  laws  ?  " 

"  And  what  if  natural  laws  were  meant  as  servants  of  man's 
moral  life  ?  What  if  Jesus  Christ  and  his  redeeming,  consoling 
work  were  the  first  thing,  and  all  things  made  by  him  for  this 
end  ?  Inflexible  physical  laws  are  necessary ;  their  very  inflex- 
ibility is  divine  order;  but  'what  law  cannot  do,  in  that  it  is 
weak  through  the  flesh,  God  did  by  sending  his  Son  in  the  like- 
ness of  sinful  flesh.'  Christ  delivers  us  from  slavery  to  natural 
law ;  he  comes  to  embody  and  make  visible  the  paternal  idea ; 
and  if  you  and  I,  with  our  small  knowledge  of  physical  laws,  can 
so  turn  and  arrange  them  that  their  inflexible  course  shall  help, 
and  not  hinder,  much  more  can  their  Maker." 

"  You  always  speak  of  Christ  as  God." 

"I  have  never  thought  of  God  in  any  other  way,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Christ  is  the  God  of  sufferers ;  and  those  who  learn 
religion  by  sorrow  always  turn  to  him.  No  other  than  a  suffer- 
ing God  could  have  helped  my  mother  in  her  anguish." 

"  And  do  you  think,"  said  I,  "  that  prayer  is  a  clew  strong 
enough  to  hold  amid  the  rugged  realities  of  life  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Harry.  "  At  any  rate,  there  is  my  great  venture ; 
that  is  my  life-experiment.  My  mother  left  me  that  as  her  only 
legacy." 

"It  certainly  seems  to  have  worked  well  for  you  so  far, 
Harry,"  said  I,  "  and  for  me  too,  for  God  has  guided  us  to  what 
we  scarcely  could  have  hoped  for,  two  poor  boys  as  we  were, 
and  so  utterly  helpless.  But  then,  Harry,  there  must  be  a  great 
many  prayers  that  are  never  answered." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Harry,  "  I  do  not  suppose  that  God  has  put 


522  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

the  key  of  all  the  universe  into  the  hand  of  every  child  ;  but  it  is 
a  comfort  to  have  a  Father  to  ask  of,  even  though  he  refuse  five 
times  out  of  six,  and  it  makes  all  the  difference  between  having  a 
father  and  being  an  orphan.  Yes,"  he  added,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments of  thought,  "  my  poor  mother's  prayers  seemed  often  to  be 
denied,  for  she  prayed  that  my  father  might  reform.  She  often 
prayed  from  day  to  day  that  we  might  be  spared  miseries  that  he 
still  brought  upon  us.  But  I  feel  sure  that  she  has  seen  by  this 
time  that  her  Father  heard  the  prayers  that  he  seemed  to  deny, 
and  her  faith  in  him  never  failed.  What  is  that  music  ?  "  he  said. 

At  this  moment  there  came  softly  over  the  gleaming  water, 
from  the  direction  of  the  sea,  the  faintest  possible  vibration  of  a 
sound,  like  the  dying  of  an  organ  tone.  It  might  be  from  some 
ship,  hidden  away  far  off  in  the  mist,  but  the  effect  was  soft  and 
dreamy  as  if  it  came  from  some  spirit-land. 

"  I  often  think,"  said  Harry,  listening  for  a  moment,  "  that  no 
one  can  pronounce  on  what  this  life  has  been  to  him  until  he  has 
passed  entirely  through  it,  and  turns  around  and  surveys  it  from 
the  other  world.  I  think  then  we  shall  see  everything  in  its  true 
proportions ;  but  till  then  we  must  walk  by  faith  and  not  by 
sight,  —  faith  that  God  loves  us,  faith  that  our  Saviour  is  always 
near  us,  and  that  all  things  are  working  together  for  good." 

"  Harry,"  said  I,  "  do  you  ever  think  of  your  father  now  ?  " 

"Horace,  there  is  where  I  wish  I  could  be  a  more  perfect 
Christian  than  I  am.  I  have  a  bitter  feeling  toward  him,  that 
I  fear  is  not  healthful,  and  that  I  pray  God  to  take  away.  To- 
night, since  we  have  been  standing  here,  I  have  had  a  strange, 
remorseful  feeling  about  him,  as  if  some  good  spirit  were  inter- 
ceding for  him  with  me,  and  trying  to  draw  me  to  Jove  and 
forgive  him.  I  shall  never  see  him,  probably,  until  I  meet  him 
in  the  great  Hereafter,  and  then,  perhaps,  I  shall  find  that  her 
prayers  have  prevailed  for  him." 

It  was  past  twelve  o'clock  when  we  got  to  our  room  that  night, 
and  Harry  found  lying  on  his  table  a  great  sealed  package  from 
England.  He  opened  it  and  found  in  it,  first,  a  letter  from  his 
father,  Sir  Harry  Percival.  The  letter  was  as  follows;  — 


NIGHT  TALKS.  523 

"  HOLME  HOUSE. 
"Mr  SON  HARRY:  — 

"  I  have  had  a  dozen  minds  to  write  to  you  before  now,  hav- 
ing had  good  accounts  of  you  from  Mr.  Davenport ;  but,  to  say 
truth,  have  been  ashamed  to  write.  I  did  not  do  right  by  your 
mother,  nor  by  you  and  your  sister,  as  I  am  now  free  to  acknowl- 
edge. She  was  not  of  a  family  equal  to  ours,  but  she  was  too 
good  for  me.  I  left  her  in  America,  like  a  brute  as  I  was,  and 
God  has  judged  me  for  it. 

"  I  married  the  woman  my  father  picked  out  for  me,  when 
I  came  home,  and  resolved  to  pull  up  and  live  soberly  like  a 
decent  man.  But  nothing  went  well  with  me.  My  children 
died  one  after  another ;  my  boy  lived  to  be  seven  years  old,  but 
he  was  feeble,  and  now  he  is  dead  too,  and  you  are  the  heir. 
I  am  thinking  that  I  am  an  old  sinner,  and  in  a  bad  way.  Have 
had  two  turns  of  gout  in  the  stomach  that  went  hard  with  me,  and 
the  doctor  don't  think  I  shall  stand  many  such.  I 'have  made 
my  will  with  a  provision  for  the  girl,  and  you  will  have  the 
estate  in  course.  I  do  wish  you  would  come  over  and  see  a  poor 
old  sinner  before  he  dies.  It  is  n't  in  the  least  jolly  being  here, 
and  I  am  dev'lish  cross,  they  say.  I  suppose  I  am,  but  if  you 
were  minded  to  come  I  'd  try  and  behave  myself,  and  so  make 
amends  for  what 's  past  beyond  recall. 

"  Your  father, 

"  HARRY  PERCIVAL." 

Accompanying  this  letter  was  a  letter  from  the  family  lawyer, 
stating  that  on  the  18th  day  of  the  month  past  Sir  Harry  Perci- 
val  had  died  of  an  attack  of  gout.  The  letter  went  on  to  give 
various  particulars  about  the  state  of  the  property,  and  the  steps 
which  had  been  taken  in  relation  to  it,  and  expressing  the  hope 
that  the  arrangements  made  would  meet  with  his  approbation. 

It  may  well  be  imagined  that  it  was  almost  morning  before  we 
closed  our  eyes,  after  so  very  startling  a  turn  in  our  affairs.  We 
lay  long  discussing  it  in  every  possible  light,  and  now  first  I 
found  courage  to  tell  Harry  of  my  own  peculiar  experiences,  and 
of  what  I  had  seen  that  very  evening.  "  It  seems  to  me,"  said 


524  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Harry,  when  I  had  told  him  all,  "  as  if  I  felt  what  you  saw. 
I  had  a  consciousness  of  a  sympathetic  presence,  something 
breathing  over  me  like  wind  upon  harp-strings,  something  partic- 
ularly predisposing  me  to  think  kindly  of  my  father.  My  feeling 
towards  him  has  been  the  weak  spot  of  my  inner  life  always,  and 
I  had  a  morbid  horror  of  him.  Now  I  feel  at  peace  with  him. 
Perhaps  her  prayers  have  prevailed  to  save  him  from  utter 
ruin." 


SPRING  VACATION  AT   OLDTOWN.  525 

CHAPTER    XLII. 

SPRING     VACATION     AT     OLDTOWN. 

IT  was  the  spring  vacation,  and  Harry  and  I  were  coming 
again  to  Oldtown ;  and  ten  miles  back,  where  we  changed 
horses,  we  had  left  the  crawling  old  Boston  stage  and  took  a  foot- 
path through  a  patch  of  land  known  as  the  Spring  Pasture.  Our 
road  lay  pleasantly  along  the  brown,  sparkling  river,  which  was 
now  just  waked  up,  after  its  winter  nap,  as  fussy  and  busy  and 
chattering  as  a  housekeeper  that  has  overslept  herself.  There 
were  downy  catkins  on  the  willows,  and  the  water-maples  were 
throwing  out  their  crimson  tassels.  The  sweet-flag  was  just 
showing  its  green  blades  above  the  water,  and  here  and  there, 
in  nooks,  there  were  yellow  cowslips  reflecting  their  bright  gold 
faces  in  the  dark  water. 

Harry  and  I  had  walked  this  way  that  we  might  search  under 
the  banks  and  among  the  dried  leaves  for  the  white  waxen  buds 
and  flowers  of  the  trailing  arbutus.  We  were  down  on  our 
knees,  scraping  the  leaves  away,  when  a  well-known  voice  came 
from  behind  the  bushes. 

"  Wai,  lordy  massy,  boys !  Here  ye  be  !  Why,  I  ben  up  to 
Siah's  tahvern,  an'  looked  inter  the  stage,  an'  did  n't  see  yer.  I 
jest  thought  I  'd  like  to  come  an'  kind  o'  meet  yer.  Lordy 
massy,  they  's  all  a  lookin'  out  for  yer  't  all  the  winders  ;  'n'  Aunt 
Lois,  she  's  ben  bilin'  up  no  end  o'  doughnuts,  an'  tearin'  round 
'nough  to  drive  the  house  out  o'  the  winders,  to  git  everything 
ready  for  ye.  Why,  it  beats  the  Prodigal  Son  all  holler,  the 
way  they  're  killin'  the  fatted  calves  for  yer ;  an'  everybody  in 
Oldtown  's  a  wantin'  to  see  Sir  Harry." 

"  O  nonsense,  Sam !  "  said  Harry,  coloring.  "  Hush  about  that ! 
We  don't  have  titles  over  here  in  America." 

"  Lordy  massy,  that 's  just  what  I  wus  a  tellin'  on  'ein  up  to 
store.  It 's  a  pity,  ses  I,  this  yere  happened  arter  peace  was 


526  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

signed,  'cause  we  might  ha'  had  a  real  live  Sir  Harry  round 
among  us.  An'  I  think  Lady  Lothrop,  she  kind  o'  thinks  so  too." 

"  0  nonsense  !  "  said  Harry.     "  Sam,  are  the  folks  all  well  ?  " 

"  0  lordy  massy,  yes !  Chirk  and  chipper  as  can  be.  An' 
there  's  Tiny,  they  say  she  's  a  goin'  to  be  an  heiress  nowadays, 
an'  there  's  no  end  of  her  beaux.  There 's  Ellery  Devenport  ben 
down  here  these  two  weeks,  a  puttin'  up  at  the  tahvern,  with  a 
landau  an'  a  span  o'  crack  horses,  a  takin'  on  her  out  to  ride  every 
day,  and  Miss  Mehitable,  she  's  so  sot  up,  she  's  reelly  got  a  bran- 
new  bonnet,  an'  left  off  that  'ere  old  un  o'  hern  that  she  's  had 
trimmed  over  spring  an'  fall  goin'  on  these  'ere  ten  years.  I 
thought  that  'ere  bonnet 's  going  to  last  out  my  time,  but  I  see  it 
hain't.  An'  she  's  got  a  new  Injy  shawl,  that  Mr.  Devenport  gin 
her.  Yeh  see,  he  understand  courtin',  all  round." 

This  intelligence,  of  course,  was  not  the  most  agreeable  to  me. 
I  hope,  my  good  friends,  that  you  have  never  known  one  of  those 
quiet  hours  of  life,  when,  while  you  are  sitting  talking  and 
smiling,  and  to  all  appearance  quite  unmoved,  you  hear  a  re- 
mark or  learn  a  fact  that  seems  to  operate  on  you  as  if  somebody 
had  quietly  turned  a  faucet  that  was  letting  out  your  very  life. 
Down,  down,  down,  everything  seems  sinking,  the  strength  pass- 
ing away  from  you  as  the  blood  passes  when  an  artery  is  cut. 
It  was  with  somewhat  this  sensation  that  I  listened  to  Sam's 
chatter,  while  I  still  mechanically  poked  away  the  leaves  and 
drew  out  the  long  waxy  garlands  that  I  had  been  gathering 
for  her! 

Sam  seated  himself  on  the  bank,  and,  drawing  his  knees  up  to 
his  chin  and  clasping  his  hands  upon  them,  began  moralizing  in 
his  usual  strain. 

"  Lordy  massy,  lordy  massy,  what  a  changin'  world  this  'ere 
is  !  It 's  jest  see-saw,  teeter-tawter,  up  an'  down.  To-day  it 's 
I  'm  up  an*  you  're  down,  an'  to-morrow  it 's  you  're  up  and  I  'm 
down !  An'  then,  by  an'  by,  death  comes  an'  takes  us  all.  I  've 
ben  kind  o'  dwellin'  on  some  varses  to-day.  — 

'  Death,  like  a  devourin'  deluge, 

Sweeps  all  away. 

The  young,  the  old,  the  middle-aged, 
To  him  become  a  prey.' 


SPBING   VACATION  AT   OLDTOWN.  527 

That  'ere  is  what  Betty  Poganut  repeated  to  me  the  night  we  sot 
up  by  Statiry's  corpse.  Yeh  'member  Statiry  Poganut  ?  Well, 
she  's  dead  at  last.  Yeh  see,  we  all  gits  called  in  our  turn.  We 
hain't  here  no  continuin'  city." 

"  But,  Sam,"  said  I,  "  how  does  business  get  along  ?  Have  n't 
you  anything  to  do  but  tramp  the  pastures  and  moralize  ? " 

"  Wai,"  said  Sam,  "  I  've  hed  some  pretty  consid'able  spells  of 
blacksmithin'  lately.  There  's  Mr.  Devenport,  he 's  sech  a  pleas- 
ant-spoken man,  he  told  me  he  brought  his  team  all  the  way  up 
from  Bostin  a  purpose  so  that  I  might  'tend  to  their  huffs.  I  've 
ben  a  shoein'  on  'em  fresh  all  round,  an'  the  off  horse,  he  'd  kind 
o'  got  a  crack  in  his  huff,  an'  I  've  been  a  doctorin'  on 't ;  an'  Mr. 
Devenport,  he  said  he  had  n't  found  nobody  that  knew  how  to 
doctor  a  horse's  huffs  ekal  to  me.  Very  pleasant-spoken  man 
Mr.  Devenport  is  ;  he  's  got  a  good  word  for  everybody.  They 
say  there  ain't  no  end  to  his  fortin,  an'  he  goes  a  flingin'  on  't  round, 
right  an'  left,  like  a  prince.  Why,  when  I  'd  done  shoein'  his  hosses, 
he  jest  put  his  hand  inter  his  pocket  an'  handed  me  out  ten  dollars  ! 
ripped  it  out,  he  did,  jest  as  easy  as  water  runs  !  But  there  was 
Tiny  a  standin'  by ;  I  think  she  kind  o'  sot  him  on.  O  lordy  massy, 
it's  plain  to  be  seen  that  she  rules  him.  It's  all  cap  in  hand  to 
her,  an'  '  What  you  will,  madam,'  an'  *  Will  ye  have  the  end  o' 
the  rainbow,  or  a  slice  out  o'  the  moon,  or  what  is  it  ? '  It 's 
all  ekal  to  him,  so  as  Miss  Tiny  wants  it.  Lordy  massy,"  he 
said,  lowering  his  voice  confidentially  to  Harry,  "  course  these  'ere 
things  is  all  temporal,  an'  our  hearts  ought  n't  to  be  too  much  sot 
on  'em  ;  still  he  's  got  about  the  most  amazin'  fortin  there  is  round 
Bostin.  Why,  if  you  b'Heve  me,  'tween  you  an'  me,  it 's  him  as 
owns  the  Dench  Place,  where  you  and  Tiny  put  up  when  you 
wus  children!  Don't  ye  'member  when  I  found  ye?  Ye  little 
guessed  whose  house  ye  wus  a  puttin'  up  at  then;  did  yer? 
Lordy  massy,  lordy  massy,  who  'd  ha'  thought  it  ?  The  wonder- 
ful ways  of  Providence !  *  He  setteth  the  poor  on  high,  an' 
letteth  the  runagates  continoo  in  scarceness.'  Wai,  wal,  it 's  a 
kind  o'  instructive  world." 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  said  Harry  to  me,  in  a  low  voice,  "  that  this 
creature  knows  anything  of  what  he  is  saying  ?  " 


528  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  I  'm  afraid  he  does,"  said  I.  "  Sam  seems  to  have  but  one 
talent,  and  that  is  picking  up  news ;  and  generally  his  guesses 
turn  out  to  be  about  true." 

"  Sam,"  said  I,  by  way  of  getting  him  to  talk  of  something  else, 
rather  than  on  what  I  dreaded  to  hear,  "  you  have  n't  said  a 
word  about  Hepsy  and  the  children.  How  are  they  all  ?  " 

"  Wai,  the  young  uns  lies  all  got  the  whoopin'  cough,"  said 
Sam,  "  an'  I  'm  e'en  a'most  beat  out  with  'em.  For  fust  it  's  one 
barks,  an'  then  another,  an'  then  all  together.  An'  then  Hepsy, 
she  gets  riled,  an'  she  scolds ;  an',  take  it  all  together,  a  feller's 
head  gits  kind  o'  turned.  When  ye  lies  a  lot  o'  young  uns, 
there  's  allus  suthin'  a  goin'  on  among  'em ;  ef  't  ain't  whoopin' 
cough,  it 's  measles  ;  an'  ef  't  ain't  measles,  it 's  chicken-pox,  or 
else  it 's  mumps,  or  scarlet-fever,  or  suthin'.  They 's  all  got  to 
be  gone  through,  fust  an'  last.  It 's  enough  to  wean  a  body 
from  this  world.  Lordy  massy,  yest'day  arternoon  I  see  yer 
Aunt  Keziah  an'  yer  Aunt  Lois  out  a  cuttin'  cowslip  greens 
t'other  side  o'  th'  river,  an'  the  sun  it  shone  so  bright,  an'  the 
turtles  an'  frogs  they  kind  o'  peeped  so  pleasant,  an'  yer  aunts 
they  sot  on  the  bank  so  kind  o'  easy  an'  free,  an'  I  stood  there 
a  lookin'  on  'em,  an'  I  could  n't  help  a  thinkin',  '  Lordy  massy, 
I  wish  t'  I  wus  an  old  maid.'  Folks  'scapes  a  great  deal  that 
don't  hev  no  young  uns  a  hangin'  outer  'em." 

"  Well,  Sam,"  said  Harry,  "  is  n't  there  any  news  stirring 
round  in  the  neighborhood  ?  " 

"  S'pose  ye  hain't  heerd  about  the  great  church-quarrel  over  to 
Needmore  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Quarrel  ?     Why,  no,"  said  Harry.     "  What  is  it  about  ?  " 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  there 's  a  kind  o'  quarrel  ris  'tween  Parson 
Perry  and  Deacon  Bangs.  I  can't  jest  git  the  right  on  't,  but 
it 's  got  the  hull  town  afire.  I  b'lieve  it  cum  up  in  a  kind  o' 
dispute  how  to  spell  Saviour.  The  Deacon  he 's  on  the  school- 
committee,  an'  Parson  Perry  he  's  on  't ;  an'  the  Deacon  he  spells 
it  4our,  an'  Parson  Perry  he  spells  it  ior,  an'  they  wouldn't 
neither  on  'em  give  up.  Wai,  ye  know  Deacon  Bangs,  —  I 
S'pose  he  's  a  Christian,  —  but,  lordy  massy,  he 's  one  o'  yer 
dreadful  ugly  kind  o'  Christians,  that,  when  they  gits  their  backs 


SPRING  VACATION  AT  OLDTOWN.  529 

up,  will  do  worse  tilings  than  sinners  will.  I  reelly  think  they 
kind  o'  take  advantage  o'  their  position,  an'  think,  es  they're 
goin'  to  be  saved  by  grace,  grace  shell  hev  enough  on  't.  Now, 
to  my  mind,  ef  either  on  'em  wus  to  give  way,  the  Deacon 
oughter  give  up  to  the  Parson ;  but  the  Deacon  he  don't  think 
so.  Between  you  and  me,"  said  Sam,  "  it 's  my  opinion  that  ef 
Ma'am  Perry  hed  n't  died  jest  when  she  did,  this  'ere  thing 
would  never  ha'  growed  to  where  't  is.  But  ye  see  Ma'am  Perry 
she  died,  an'  that  left  Parson  Perry  a  widower,  an'  folks  did  talk 
about  him  an'  Mahaley  Bangs,  an'  fact  was,  'long  about  last 
spring,  Deacon  Bangs  an'  Mis'  Bangs  an'  Mahaley  wus  jest  as 
thick  with  the  Parson  as  they  could  be.  Why,  Granny  Watkins 
told  me  about  their  havin'  on  him  to  tea  two  an'  three  times  a 
week,  an'  Mahaley  'd  make  two  kinds  o'  cake,  an'  they  'd  have 
preserved  watermelon  rinds  an'  peaches  an'  cranberry  saace,  an' 
then  't  was  all  sugar  an'  all  sweet,  an'  the  Deacon  he  talked 
'bout  raisin'  Parson  Perry's  salary.  Wai,  then,  ye  see,  Parson 
Perry  he  went  over  to  Oldtown  an'  married  Jerushy  Peabody. 
Now,  Jerushy 's  a  nice,  pious  gal,  an'  it 's  a  free  country,  an'  par- 
sons lies  a  right  to  suit  'emselves  as  well 's  other  men.  But  Jake 
Marshall,  he  ses  to  me,  when  he  heerd  o'  that,  ses  he,  *  They  '11  be 
findin'  fault  with  Parson  Perry's  doctrines  now  afore  two  months 
is  up ;  ye  see  if  they  don't.'  Wai,  sure  enuff,  this  'ere  quar- 
rel 'bout  spellin'  Saviour  come  on  fust,  an'  Deacon  Bangs  he  fit 
the  Parson  like  a  bulldog.  An'  next  town-meetin'  day  he  told 
Parson  Perry  right  out  before  everybody  thet  he  was  wuss  then 
?n  Armenian,  —  thet  he  was  a  rank  Pelagian  ;  V  he  said  there 
was  folks  thet  hed  taken  notes  o'  his  sermons  for  two  years  back, 
'n'  they  could  show  thet  he  hed  n't  preached  the  real  doctrine  of 
total  depravity,  nor  'riginal  sin,  an'  thet  he  'd  got  the  plan  o'  sal- 
vation out  o'  j'int  intirely ;  he  was  all  kind  o'  flattin'  out  onter 
morality.  An'  Parson  Perry  he  sed  he  'd  preached  jest 's  he 
allers  hed.  'Tween  you  'n'  me,  we  know  he  must  ha'  done  that, 
'cause  these  'ere  ministers  thet  hev  to  go  preachin'  round  'n' 
round  like  a  boss  in  a  cider-mill,  —  wal,  course  they  must  preach 
the  same  sermons  over.  I  s'pose  they  kind  o'  trim  'em  up  with 
new  collars  'n'  wris'bands.  But  we  used  to  say  thet  Parson 
23  HH  ' 


500  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Lothrop  bed  a  bar'l  o'  sermons,  V  when  he  got  through  the 
year  he  turned  his  bar'l  t'other  side  up,  and  begun  at  t'other 
end.  Lordy  massy,  who 's  to  know  it,  when  half  on  em 's  asleep? 
And  I  guess  the  preachin  's  full  as  good  as  the  pay  anyhow  I 
Wai,  the  upshot  on  't  all  is,  they  got  a  gret  counsel  there,  an' 
they  're  a  tryin'  Mr.  Perry  for  heresy  an'  what  not.  Wai,  I  don't 
b'lieve  there  's  a  yaller  dog  goes  inter  the  Needmore  meetin'- 
house  now  that  ain't  got  his  mind  made  up  one  way  or  t'other 
about  it.  Yer  don't  hear  nothin'  over  there  now  'xcept  about  Ar- 
menians an'  Pelagians  an*  Unitarians  an'  total  depravity.  Lordy 
massy!  wal,  they  lives  up  to  that  doctrine  any  way.  What  do  ye 
think  of  old  Sphyxy  Smith's  bein'  called  in  as  one  o'  the  wit- 
nesses in  council  ?  She  don'  know  no  more  'bout  religion  than 
an'  old  hetchel,  but  she 's  ferce  as  can  be  on  Deacon  Bangs's  side, 
an'  Old  Crab  Smith  he  hes  to  hev'  his  say  'bout  it." 

u  Do  tell,"  said  Harry,  wonderingly,  "  if  that  old  creature 
is  alive  yet !  " 

"  'Live  ?  Why,  yis,  ye  may  say  so,"  said  Sam.  "  Much  alive  as 
ever  he  was.  Ye  see  he  kind  o'  pickles  himself  in  hard  cider,  an' 
I  dunno  but  he  may  live  to  hector  his  wife  till  he  's  ninety.  But 
he's  gret  on  the  trial  now,  an'  very  much  interested  'bout  the 
doctrines.  He  ses  thet  he  hain't  heard  a  sermon  on  sovereignty, 
or  'lection,  or  reprobation,  sence  he  can  remember.  Wal,  t'other 
side,  they  say  they  don't  see  what  business  Old  Crab  an'  Miss 
Sphyxy  hev  to  be  meddlin'  so  much,  when  they  ain't  church- 
members.  Why,  I  was  over  to  Needmore  town-meetin'  day  jest 
to  hear  'em  fight  over  it ;  they  talked  a  darned  sight  more  'bout 
that  than  'bout  the  turnpikes  or  town  business.  Why,  I  heard 
Deacon  Brown  (he  's  on  the  parson's  side)  tellin'  Old  Crab  he 
did  n't  see  what  business  he  had  to  boss  the  doctrines,  when  he 
warn't  a  church-member,  and  Old  Crab  said  it  was  his  bisness 
about  the  doctrines,  'cause  he  paid  to  hev  'em.  *  Ef  I  pay  for 
good  strong  doctrine,  why,  I  want  to  hev  good  strong  doctrine/ 
says  Old  Crab,  says  he.  '  Ef  I  pays  for  hell-fire,  I  want  to  hev 
hell-fire,  and  hev  it  hot  too.  I  don't  want  none  o'  your  proph- 
esyin'  smooth  things.  Why/  says  he,  '  look  at  Dr.  Stern.  His 
folks  hes  the  very  hair  took  off  their  heads  'most  every  Sun- 


SPEING  VACATION  AT   OLDTOWN.  531 

day,  and  he  don't  get  no  more  'n  we  pay  Parson  Perry.  I  tell 
yew/  says  Old  Crab, '  he  's  a  lettin'  on  us  all  go  to  sleep,  and 
it's  no  wonder  I  ain't  in  the  church.'  Ye  see,  Old  Crab  and 
Sphyxy,  they  seem  to  be  kind  o'  settin'  it  down  to  poor  old 
Parson  Perry's  door  that  he  hain't  converted  'em,  an'  made  saints 
on  'em  long  ago,  when  they  've  paid  up  their  part  o'  the  salary 
reg'lar,  every  year.  Jes'  so  onreasonable  folks  will  be;  they 
give  a  man  two  hunderd  dollars  a  year  an'  his  wood,  an'  spect 
him  to  git  all  on  em'  inter  the  kingdom  o'  heaven,  whether 
they  will  or  no,  jest  as  the  angels  got  Lot's  wife  and  daughters 
out  o'  Sodom." 

"That  poor  little  old  woman!"  said  Harry.  "Do  tell  if  she 
is  living  yet !  " 

"  O  yis,  she  's  all  right,"  said  Sam ;  "  she 's  one  o'  these  'ere 
little  thin,  dry  old  women  that  keep  a  good  while.  But  ain't  ye 
heerd  ?  their  son  Obid  's  come  home  an'  bought  a  farm,  an* 
married  a  nice  gal,  and  he  insists  on  it  his  mother  shall  live  with 
him.  An'  so  Old  Crab  and  Miss  Sphyxy,  they  fight  it  out  to- 
gether. So  the  old  woman  is  delivered  from  him  most  o'  the 
time.  Sometimes  he  walks  over  there  an'  stays  a  week,  an'  takes 
a  spell  o'  aggravatin'  on  'er,  that  kind  o'  sets  him  up,  but  he 's  so 
busy  now  'bout  the  quarrel 't  I  b'lieve  he  lets  her  alone." 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  the  last  rail-fence  which  sepa- 
rated us  from  the  grassy  street  of  Oldtown,  arid  here  Sam  took 
his  leave  of  us. 

"  I  promised  Hepsy  when  I  went  out,"  he  said,  "  thet  I  'd  go 
to  the  store  and  git  her  some  corn  meal,  but  I  '11  be  round  agin  in 
th'  evening.  Look  'ere,"  he  added,  "  I  wus  out  this  mornin',  an* 
I  dug  some  sweet-flag  root  for  yer.  I  know  ye  used  ter  like 
sweet-flag  root.  'T  ain't  time  for  young  wintergreen  yit,  but 
here's  a  bunch  I  picked  yer,  with  the  berries  an'  old  leaves. 
Do  take  'em,  boys,  jest  for  sake  o'  old  times ! " 

We  thanked  him,  of  course ;  there  was  a  sort  of  aroma  of  boy- 
hood about  these  things,  that  spoke  of  spring  days  and  melting 
snows,  and  long  Saturday  afternoon  rambles  that  we  had  had  with 
Sam  years  before.  And  we  saw  his  lean  form  go  striding  off  with 
something  of  an  affectionate  complacency. 


532  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  Horace,"  said  Harry,  the  minute  we  were  alone,  "  you 
must  n't  mind  too  much  about  Sam's  gossip." 

"  It  is  just  what  I  have  been  expecting,"  said  I ;  "  but  in  a  few 
moments  we  shall  know  the  truth." 

We  went  on  until  the  square  white  front  of  the  old  Rossiter 
house  rose  upon  our  view.  We  stopped  before  it,  and  down  the 
walk  from  the  front  door  to  the  gate,  amid  the  sweet  budding 
lilacs,  came  gleaming  and  glancing  the  airy  form  of  Tina.  So 
airy  she  looked,  so  bright,  so  full  of  life  and  joy,  and  threw  her- 
self into  Harry's  arms,  laughing  and  crying. 

"  O  Harry,  Harry  !  God  has  been  good  to  us  !  And  you,  dear 
brother  Horace,"  she  said,  turning  to  me  and  giving  me  both  her 
hands,  with  one  of  those  frank,  loving  looks  that  said  as  much  as 
another  might  say  by  throwing  herself  into  your  arms.  "  We  are 
all  so  happy  !  "  she  said. 

I  determined  to  have  it  over  at  once,  and  I  said,  "  Am  I  then 
to  congratulate  you,  Tina,  on  your  engagement  ?  " 

She  laughed  and  blushed,  and  held  up  her  hand,  on  which 
glittered  a  great  diamond,  and  hid  her  face  for  a  moment  on 
Harry's  shoulder. 

"I  could  n't  write  to  you  about  it,  boys, —  I  couldn't!  But 
I  meant  to  tell  you  myself,  and  tell  you  the  first  thing  too. 
I  wanted  to  tell  you  about  him,  because  I  think  you  none  of  you 
know  him,  or  half  how  noble  and  good  he  is  !  Come,  come  in," 
she  said,  taking  us  each  by  the  hand  and  drawing  us  along  with 
her.  "  Come  in  and  see  Aunty ;  she  '11  be  so  glad  to  see  you  ! " 

If  there  was  any  one  thing  for  which  I  was  glad  at  this 
moment,  it  was  that  I  had  never  really  made  love  to  Tina.  It 
was  a  comfort  to  me  to  think  that  she  did  not  and  could  not  pos- 
sibly know  the  pain  she  was  giving  me.  All  I  know  is  that,  at 
the  moment,  I  was  seized  with  a  wild,  extravagant  gayety,  and 
rattled  and  talked  and  laughed  with  a  reckless  abandon  that 
quite  astonished  Harry.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  every  ludicrous 
story  and  every  droll  remark  that  I  had  ever  heard  came  throng- 
ing into  my  head  -together.  And  I  believe  that  Tina  really 
thought  that  I  was  sincere  in  rejoicing  with  her.  Miss  Mehitable 
talked  with  us  gravely  about  it  while  Tina  was  out  of  the  room. 


SPRING  VACATION  AT   OLDTOWN.  533 

It  was  most  sudden  and  unexpected,  she  said,  to  her;  she 
always  had  supposed  that  Ellery  Davenport  had  admired  Tina, 
but  never  that  he  had  thought  of  her  in  this  way.  In  a  worldly 
point  of  view,  the  match  was  a  more  brilliant  one  than  could 
ever  have  been  expected.  He  was  of  the  best  old  families  in 
the  country,  —  of  the  Edwards  and  the  Davenport  stock,  —  his 
talents  were  splendid,  and  his  wealth  would  furnish  everything 
that  wealth  could  furnish.  "  There  is  only  one  thing,"  she  con- 
tinued gravely;  "I  am  not -satisfied  about  his  religious  principles. 
But  Tina  is  an  enthusiast,  and  has  perfect  faith  that  he  will  come 
all  right  in  this  respect.  He  seems  to  be  completely  dazzled  and 
under  her  influence  now,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  taking  a  leisurely 
pinch  of  snuff,  "  but  then,  you  see,  thaCs  a  common  phenome- 
non, about  this  time  in  a  man's  life.  But,"  she  added,  "  where 
there  is  such  a  strong  attachment  on  both  sides,  all  we  can  do 
is  to  wish  both  sides  well,  and  speed  them  on  their  way.  Mr. 
Davenport  has  interested  himself  in  the  very  kindest  manner 
in  regard  to  both  Tina  and  Harry,  and  I  suppose  it  is  greatly 
owing  to  this  that  affairs  have  turned  out  as  prosperously  as  they 
have.  As  you  know,  Sir  Harry  made  a  handsome  provision  for 
Tina  in  his  will.  I  confess  I  am  glad  of  that,"  she  said,  with  a 
sort  of  pride.  "  I  would  n't  want  my  little  Tina  to  have  passed 
into  his  arms  altogether  penniless.  When  first  love  is  over,  men 
sometimes  remember  those  things." 

"If  my  father  had  not  done  justice  to  Tina  in  his  will,"  said 
Harry,  "  I  should  have  done  it.  My  sister  should  not  have  gone 
to  any  man  a  beggar." 

"  I  know  that,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  "  but  still  it  is 
a  pleasure  to  think  that  your  father  did  it.  It  was  a  justice  to 
your  mother's  memory  that  I  am  glad  he  rendered." 

"  And  when  is  this  marriage  to  take  place  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Mr.  Davenport  wants  to  carry  her  away  in  June,"  said  Miss 
Mehitable.  "  That  leaves  but  little  time ;  but  he  says  he  must 
go  to  join  the  English  Embassy,  certainly  by  midsummer,  and 
as  there  seems  to  be  a  good  reason  for  his  haste,  I  suppose  I 
must  not  put  my  feelings  in  the  way.  It  seems  now  as  if  I  had 
had  her  only  a  few  days,  and  she  has  been  so  very  sweet  and 


534  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

lovely  to  me.  Well,"  said  she,  after  a  moment,  "  I  suppose  the 
old  sweetbrier-bushes  feel  lonesome  when  we  cut  their  blossoms 
and  carry  them  off,  but  the  old  thorny  things  must  n't  have 
blossoms  if  they  don't  expect  to  have  them  taken.  That's  all 
we  scraggly  old  people  are  good  for." 


WHAT   OUE  FOLKS  THOUGHT   ABOUT  IT.  535 

• 

CHAPTER    XLIII. 

WHAT   OUR   FOLKS   THOUGHT   ABOUT   IT. 

AT  home,  that  evening,  before  the  great  open  fire,  still  the 
same  subject  was  discussed.  Tina's  engagement  to  Ellery 
Davenport  was  spoken  of  as  the  next  most  brilliant  stroke  of 
luck  to  Harry's  accession  to  the  English  property.  Aunt  Lois 
was  all  smiles  and  suavity,  poor  dear  old  soul!  How  all  the 
wrinkles  and  crinkles  of  her  face  smoothed  out  under  the  in- 
fluence of  prosperity !  and  how  providential  everything  appeared 
to  her ! 

"  Providence  gets  some  pay-days,"  said  an  old  divine.  Gen- 
erally speaking,  his  account  is  suffered  to  run  on  with  very  lax 
attention.  But  when  a  young  couple  make  a  fortunate  engage- 
ment, or  our  worldly  prospects  take  a  sudden  turn  to  go  as  we 
would,  the  account  of  Providence  is  gladly  balanced;  praise 
and  thanksgiving  come  in  over-measure. 

For  my  part,  I  could  n't  see  the  Providence  at  all  in  it,  and 
found  this  looking  into  happiness  through  other  people's  eyes 
a  very  fatiguing  operation. 

My  grandfather  and  grandmother,  as  they  sat  pictured  out 
by  the  light  of  a  magnificent  hickory  fire,  seemed  scarcely  a  year 
older ;  but  their  faces  this  evening  were  beaming  complacently ; 
and  my  mother,  in  her  very  quiet  way,  could  scarcely  help 
triumphing  over  Aunt  Lois.  I  was  a  sophomore  in  Cambridge, 
and  Harry  a  landed  proprietor,  and  Tina  an  heiress  to  property 
in  her  own  right,  instead  of  our  being  three  poor  orphan  children 
without  any  money,  and  with  the  up-hill  of  life  to  climb. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  Miss  Mehitable  came  in  with 
Ellery  Davenport  and  Tina.  Now,  much  as  a  man  will  dislike 
the  person  -who  steps  between  him  and  the  lady  of  his  love,  I 
could  not  help,  this  evening,  myself  feeling  the  power  of  that 
fascination  by  which  Ellery  Davenport  won  the  suffrages  of  all 
hearts. 


536  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Aunt  Lois,  as  usual,  was  nervous  and  fidgety  with  the 
thought  that  the  call  of  the  splendid  Mr.  Davenport  had 
surprised  them  all  at  the  great  kitchen-fire,  when  there  was 
the  best  room  cold  as  Nova  Zembla.  She  looked  almost  re- 
proachfully at  Tina,  and  said  apologetically  to  Mr.  Davenport, 
"We  are  rough  working  folks,  and  you  catch  us  just  as  we 
are.  If  we  'd  known  you  were  coming,  we  'd  have  had  a  fire  in 
the  parlor." 

"  Then,  Miss  Badger,  you  would  have  been  very  cruel,  and 
deprived  us  of  a  rare  enjoyment,"  said  he.  "  What  other  land  but 
our  own  America  can  give  this  great,  joyous,  abundant  home-fire? 
The  great  kitchen-fire  of  New  England,"  he  added,  seating  him- 
self admiringly  in  front  of  it,  "  gives  you  all  the  freshness  and 
simplicity  of  forest  life,  with  a  sense  of  shelter  and  protection. 
It  's  like  a  camp-fire  in  the  woods,  only  that  you  have  a  house 
over  you,  and  a  good  bed  to  sleep  in  at  hand;  and  there  is 
nothing  that  draws  out  the  heart  like  it.  People  never  can 
talk  to  each  other  as  they  do  by  these  great  open  fires.  For  my 
part,"  he  said,  "I  am  almost  a  Fire- worshipper.  I  believe  in 
the  divine  properties  of  flame.  It  purifies  the  heart  and  warms 
the  affections,  and  when  people  sit  and  look  into  the  coals  to- 
gether, they  feel  a  sort  of  glow  of  charity  coming  over  them  that 
they  never  feel  anywhere  else." 

"  Now,  I  should  think,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  Mr.  Davenport,  that 
you  must  have  seen  so  much  pomp  and  splendor  and  luxury 
abroad,  that  our  rough  life  here  would  seem  really  disagreeable 
to  you." 

"  Quite  the  contrary,"  said  Ellery  Davenport.  "  We  go 
abroad  to  appreciate  our  home.  Nature  is  our  mother,  and  the 
life  that  is  lived  nearest  to  nature  is,  after  all,  the  one  that  is  the 
pleasantest.  I  met  Brant  at  court  last  winter.  You  know  he 
was  a  wild  Indian  to  begin  with,  and  he  has  seen  both  extremes, 
for  now  he  is  Colonel  Brant,  and  has  been  moving  in  fashionable 
society  in  London.  So  I  thought  he  must  be  a  competent  person 
to  decide  on  the  great  question  between  savage  and  civilized  life, 
and  he  gave  his  vote  for  the  savage." 

"  I  wonder  at  him,"  said  my  grandmother. 


WHAT   OUR  FOLKS  THOUGHT  ABOUT  IT.  537 

"  Well,  I  remember,"  said  Tina,  "  we  had  one  day  and  night 
of  savage  life  —  don't  you  remember,  Harry  ?  —  that  was  very 
pleasant.  It  was  when  we  stayed  with  the  old  Indian  woman,  — 
do  you  remember  ?  It  was  all  very  well,  so  long  as  the  sun 
shone ;  but  then  when  the  rain  fell,  and  the  wind  blew,  and  the 
drunken  Indian  came  home,  it  was  not  so  pleasant." 

"That  was  the  time,  young  lady,"  said  Ellery  Davenport, 
looking  at  her  with  a  flash  in  his  blue  eyes,  "  that  you  established 
yourself  as  housekeeper  on  my  premises !  If  I  had  only  known 
it,  I  might  have  picked  you  up  then,  as  a  waif  on  my  grounds." 

"It's  well  you  did  not,"  said  Tina,  laughing;  "you  would 
have  found  me  troublesome  to  keep.  I  don't  believe  you  would 
have  been  as  patient  as  dear  old  Aunty,  here,"  she  added,  lay- 
ing her  head  on  IVJQss  Mehitable's  shoulder.  "  I  was  a  perfect 
brier-rose,  —  small  leaves  and  a  great  many  prickles." 

"  By  the  by,"  said  Harry,  "  Sam  Lawson  has  been  telling  us, 
this  morning,  about  our  old  friends  Miss  Asphyxia  Smith  and  Old 
Crab." 

"Is  it  possible,"  said  Tina,  laughing,  "that  those  creatures  are 
living  yet  ?  Why,  I  look  back  on  them  as  some  awful  pre-Adam- 
ite  monsters." 

"  Who  was  Miss  Asphyxia  ?  "  said  Ellery  Davenport.  "  I  have 
n't  heard  of  her." 

"  O,  't  was  a  great  threshing-machine  of  a  woman  that  caught 
me  between  its  teeth  some  years  ago,", said  Tina.  "What  do 
you  suppose  would  ever  have  become  of  me,  Aunty,  if  she  had 
kept  me  ?  Do  you  think  she  ever  could  have  made  me  a  great 
stramming,  threshing,  scrubbing,  floor-cleaning  machine,  like  her- 
self? She  warned  Miss  Mehitable,"  continued  Tina,  looking  at 
Ellery  and  laughing  shyly,  "  that  I  never  should  grow  up  to  be 
good  for  anything;  and  she  spoke  a  fatal  truth,  for,  since  she 
gave  me  up,  every  mortal  creature  has  tried  to  pet  and  spoil  me. 
Dear  old  Aunty  and  Mr.  Rossiter  have  made  some  feeble  at- 
tempts to  make  me  good  for  something,  but  they  have  n't  done 
much  at  it." 

"  Thank  Heaven !  "  said  Ellery  Davenport.  "  Who  would  think 
of  training  a  wild  rose  ?  I  sometimes  look  at  the  way  a  sweet- 

23* 


538  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

brier  grows  over  one  of  our  rough  stone  walls,  and  think  what  a 
beautiful  defiance  it  is  to  gardeners." 

"  That  is  all  very  pretty  to  say,"  said  Tina,  "  when  you  happen 
to  be  where  there  are  none  but  wild  roses ;  but  when  you  were 
among  marchionesses  and  duchesses,  how  was  it  then  ?  " 

For  answer,  Ellery  Davenport  bent  over  her,  and  said  some- 
thing which  I  could  not  hear.  He  had  the  art,  without  seem- 
ing to  whisper,  of  throwing  a  sentence  from  him  so  that  it  should 
reach  but  one  ear ;  and  Tina  laughed  and  blushed  and  dimpled, 
and  looked  as  if  a  thousand  little  graces  were  shaking  their  wings 
around  her. 

It  was  one  of  Tina's  great  charms  that  she  was  never  for  a  mo- 
ment at  rest.  In  this  she  was  like  a  bird,  or  a  brook,  or  a  young 
tree,  in  which  there  is  always  a  little  glancing  shimmer  of  move- 
ment. And  when  anything  pleased  her,  her  face  sparkled  as  a  river 
does  when  something  falls  into  it.  I  noticed  Ellery  Davenport's 
eyes  followed  all  these  little  motions  as  if  he  had  been  enchanted. 
O,  there  was  no  doubt  that  the  great  illusion,  the  delicious 
magic,  was  in  full  development  between  them.  And  Tina  looked 
so  gladly  satisfied,  and  glanced  about  the  circle  and  at  him  with 
such  a  quiet  triumph  of  possession,  and  such  satisfaction  in  her 
power  over  him,  that  it  really  half  reconciled  me  to  see  that  she 
was  so  happy.  And,  after  all,  I  thought  to  myself  as  I  looked 
at  the  airy  and  spirituel  style  of  her  beauty,  —  a  beauty  that 
conveyed  the  impression  of  fragility  and  brilliancy  united  to  the 
highest  point,  —  such  a  creature  as  that  is  made  for  luxury, 
made  for  perfume  and  flowers  and  jewelry  and  pomp  of  liv- 
ing and  obsequious  tending,  for  old  aristocratic  lands  and  court 
circles,  where  she  would  glitter  as  a  star.  And  what  had  I 
to  offer,  —  I,  a  poor  sophomore  in  Harvard,  owing  that  posi- 
tion to  the  loving  charity  of  my  dear  old  friend  ?  My  love  to 
her  seemed  a  madness  and  a  selfishness,  —  as  if  I  had  wished  to 
take  the  evening  star  out  of  the  heavens  and  burn  it  for  a  house- 
hold lamp.  "  How  fortunate,  how  fortunate,"  I  thought  to  my- 
self, "  that  I  have  never  told  ner !  For  now  I  shall  keep  the  love 
of  her  heart.  We  are  friends,  and  she  shall  be  the  lady  of  my 
heart  forever,  —  the  lady  of  my  dreams." 


WHAT   OUR  FOLKS  THOUGHT  ABOUT  IT.  539 

I  knew,  too,  that  I  had  a  certain  hold  upon  her ;  and  even  at 
this  moment  I  saw  her  eye  often,  as  from  old  habit,  looking 
across  to  me,  a  little  timidly  and  anxiously,  to  see  what  I  thought 
of  her  prize.  She  was  Tina  still,  —  the  same  old  Tina,  that 
always  needed  to  be  approved  and  loved  and  sympathized  with, 
and  have  all  her  friends  go  with  her,  heart  and  hand,  in  all 
her  ways.  So  I  determined  to  like  him. 

At  this  moment  Sam  Lawson  came  in.  I  was  a  little  curious 
to  know  how  he  had  managed  it  with  his  conscience  to  leave  his 
domestic  circle  under  their  trying  circumstances,  but  I  was  very 
soon  satisfied  as  to  this  point. 

Sam,  who  had  watched  the  light  flaring  out  from  the  windows, 
and  flattened  his  nose  against  the  window-pane  while  he  an- 
nounced to  Hepsy  that  "Mr.  Devenport  and  Miss  Mehitable 
and  Tiny  were  all  a  goin'  into  the  Deacon's  to  spend  th'  evenin'," 
could  not  resist  the  inexpressible  yearning  to  have  a  peep  him- 
self at  what  was  going  on  there. 

He  came  in  with  a  most  prostrate  air  of  dejection.  Aunt  Lois 
frowned  with  stern  annoyance,  and  looked  at  my  grandmother, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "To  think  he  should  come  in  when  Mr. 
Davenport  is  making  a  call  here  ! " 

Ellery  Davenport,  however,  received  him  with  a  patronizing 
cheerfulness,  —  "Why,  hulloa,  Sam,  how  are  you?"  It  was 
Ellery  Davenport's  delight  to  start  Sam's  loquacity  and  develop 
his  conversational  powers,  and  he  made  a  welcoming  movement 
toward  the  block  of  wood  in  the  chimney-corner.  "  Sit  down," 
he  said,  — "  sit  down,  and  tell  us  how  Hepsy  and  the  children 
are." 

Tina  and  he  looked  at  each  other  with  eyes  dancing  with 
merriment. 

"  Wai,  wal,"  said  Sam,  sinking  into  the  seat  and  raising  his 
lank  hands  to  the  fire,  while  his  elbows  rested  on  his  knees, 
"  the  children 's  middlin',  —  Doctor  Merrill  ses  he  thinks  they  've 
got  past  the  wust  on 't,  —  but  Hepsy,  she  's  clean  tuckered  out, 
and  kind  o'  discouraged.  An'  I  thought  I  'd  come  over  an'  jest 
ask  Mis'  Badger  ef  she  would  n't  kind  o'  jest  mix  'er  up  a  little 
milk  punch  to  kind  o'  set  'er  up  agin." 


540  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  What  a  considerate  husband !  "  said  Ellery  Davenport,  glan- 
cing around  the  circle  with  infinite  amusement. 

My  grandmother,  always  prompt  at  any  call  on  her  charity, 
was  already  half  across  the  floor  toward  her  buttery,  whence  she 
soon  returned  with  a  saucepan  of  milk. 

"  I  '11  watch  that  'ere,  Mis'  Badger,"  said  Sam.  "  Jest  rake  out 
the  coals  this  way,  an'  when  it  begins  ter  simmer  I  '11  put  in  the 
sperits,  ef  ye  '11  gin  'em  to  me.  '  Give  strong  drink  ter  him  as  is 
ready  to  perish,'  the  Scriptur'  says.  Hepsy's  got  an  amazin' 
sight  o'  grit  in  'er,  but  I  'clare  for  't,  she  's  ben  up  an'  down 
nights  so  much  lately  with  them  young  uns  thet  she 's  a'most 
clean  wore  out.  An'  I  should  be  too,  ef  I  did  n't  take  a  tramp 
now  'n'  then  to  kind  o'  keep  me  up.  Wai,  ye  see,  the  head  o' 
the  family,  he  lies  to  take  car'  o'  himself,  'cause  ye  see,  ef  he  goes 
down,  all  goes  down.  *  The  man  is  the  head  o'  the  woman,'  ye 
know,"  said  Sam,  as  he  shook  his  skillet  of  milk. 

I  could  see  Tina's  eyes  dancing  with  mirthfulness  as  Ellery 
Davenport  answered,  "  I  'm  glad  to  see,  Sam,  that  you  have  a 
proper  care  of  your  health.  You  are  such  an  important  mem- 
ber of  the  community,  that  I  don't  know  what  Oldtown  would  be 
without  you ! " 

"  Wai,  now,  Mr.  Devenport,  ye  flatter  me ;  but  then  everybody 
don't  seem  to  think  so.  I  don't  think  folks  like  me,  as  does  for 
this  one  an'  does  for  that  one,  an'  kind  o'  spreads  out  permiskus, 
is  appreciated  allers.  There 's  Hepsy,  she  's  allers  at  me,  a  say- 
in'  I  don't  do  nothin'  for  her,  an'  yet  there  las'  night  I  wus  up  in 
my  shirt,  a  shiverin'  an'  a  goin'  round,  fust  ter  one  and  then  ter 
'nuther,  a  hevin'  on  'em  up  an'  a  thumpin'  on  their  backs,  an' 
clarin'  the  phlegm  out  o'  their  thrtits,  till  I  wus  e'en  a'most  fruz  ; 
and  Hepsy,  she  lay  there  abed  scoldin'  'cause  I  hed  n't  sawed  no 
wood  thet  arternoon  to  keep  up  the  fire.  Lordy  massy,  I  jest 
went  out  ter  dig  a  leetle  sweet-flag  root  ter  gin  ter  the  boys,  'cause 
I  wus  so  kind  o'  wore  out.  I  don't  think  these  'ere  women  ever 
'fleets  on  men's  trials.  They  railly  don't  keep  count  o'  what 
we  do  for  'em." 

"  What  a  picture  of  conjugal  life ! "  said  Ellery  Davenport, 
glancing  at  Tina.  "Yes,  Sam,  it  is  to  be  confessed  that  the 


WHAT  OUR  FOLKS  THOUGHT  ABOUT  IT.  541 

female  sex  are  pretty  exorbitant  creditors.  They  make  us 
pay  dear  for  serving  them." 

"  Jes'  so  !  jes'  so  !  "  said  Sam.  "  They  don't  know  nothin'  what 
we  undergo.  I  don't  think  Hepsy  keeps  no  sort  o'  count  o'  the 
nights  an'  nights  I  've  walked  the  floor  with  the  baby,  whishin' 
an'  shooin'  on  't,  and  singin'  to  't  till  my  thrut  wus  sore,  an'  then 
hed  to  git  up  afore  daylight  to  split  oven-wood,  an'  then  right  to 
my  blacksmithin',  jest  to  git  a  little  money  to  git  the  meat  an' 
meal  an'  suthin'  coinfort'ble  fur  dinner  !  An'  then,  ye  see,  there 
don't  nothin'  last,  when  there's  so  many  mouths  to  eat  it  up  ;  an* 
there  't  is,  it 's  jest  roun'  an'  roun'.  Ye  git  a  good  piece  o'  beef 
Tuesday  an'  pay  for 't,  an'  by  Thursday  it 's  all  gone,  an'  ye  hev 
to  go  to  work  agin  !  Lordy  massy,  this  'ere  life  don't  seem  hardly 
wuth  hevin'.  I  s'pose,  Mr.  Devenport,  you  've  been  among  the 
gret  folks  o'  th'  earth,  over  there  in  King  George's  court  ?  Why, 
they  say  here  that  you've  ben  an'  tuk  tea  with  the  king,  with  his 
crown  on 's  head !  I  s'pose  they  all  goes  roun'  with  their  crowns 
on  over  there ;  don't  they  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,  not  precisely,"  said  Ellery  Davenport.  "  I  think 
they  rather  mitigate  their  splendors  when  they  have  to  do  with 
us  poor  republicans,  so  as  not  to  bear  us  down  altogether." 

"  Jes'  so,"  said  Sam,  "  like  Moses,  that  put  a  veil  over  's  face 
'cause  th'  Israelites  could  n't  bear  the  glory." 

"  Well,"  said  Ellery  Davenport,  "  I  Ve  not  been  struck  with 
any  particular  resemblance  between  King  George  and  Moses." 

"  The  folks  here  'n  Oldtown,  Mr.  Devenport,  's  amazin'  curus 
to  hear  the  partic'lars  'bout  them  grand  things  't  you  must  ha' 
seen  ;  I 's  a  tellin'  on  'em  up  to  store  how  you  'd  ben  with  lords 
V  ladies  'n'  dukes  'n'  duchesses,  'n'  seen  all  the  kingdoms  o'  the 
world,  an'  the  glory  on  'em.  I  told  'em  I  did  n't  doubt  you  'd  et 
off  'm  plates  o'  solid  gold,  an'  ben  in  houses  where  the  walls  was 
all  a  crust  o'  gold  'n'  diamonds  'n'  precious  stones,  V  yit  ye  did  n't 
seem  ter  be  one  bit  lifted  up  nor  proud,  so 't  yer  could  n't  talk  ter 
common  folks.  I  s'pose  them  gret  fam'lies  they  hes  as  much 's 
fifty  ur  a  hunderd  servants,  don't  they  ?  " 

"  Well,  sometimes,"  said  Ellery  Davenport. 

«  Wai,  now,"  said  Sam,  « I  sh'd  think  a  man  >d  feel  kind  o' 


542  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

curus,  —  sort  o'  's  ef  he  was  keepin'  a  hotel,  an'  boardin'  all  the 
lower  classes." 

"It  is  something  that  way,  Sam,"  said  Ellery  Davenport. 
"  That 's  one  way  of  providing  for  the  lower  classes." 

"  Jest  what  th'  Lord  told  th'  Israelites  when  they  would  hev 
a  king,"  said  Sam.  "  Ses  he,  <  He  '11  take  yer  daughters  to  be 
confectioners  V  cooks  'n'  bakers,  an*  he  '11  take  the  best  o'  yer 
fields  V  yer  vineyards  'n'  olive-yards,  an7  give  'em  to  his  sar- 
vints,  an'  he  '11  take  a  tenth  o'  yer  seed  V  give  'em  ter  his  officers, 
an'  he  '11  take  yer  men-sarvints  'n'  yer  maid-sarvints,  'n'  yer  good- 
liest young  asses,  an'  put  'em  ter  his  works." 

"  Striking  picture  of  monarchical  institutions,  Sam,"  said  Ellery 
Davenport. 

"  Wai,  now,  I  tell  ye  what,"  said  Sam,  slowly  shaking  his 
shimmering  skillet  of  milk,  "  I  should  n't  want  ter  git  inter  that 
ere'  pie,  unless  I  could  be  some  o'  the  top  crust.  It 's  jest  like  a 
pile  o'  sheepskins,  —  's  only  the  top  un  lies  light.  I  guess  th'  un- 
dermost one 's  squeezed  putty  flat." 

"  I  '11  bet  it  is,  Sam,"  said  Ellery  Davenport,  laughing. 

"  Wai,"  said  Sam,  "  I  go  for  republics,  but  yit  it 's  human  natur' 
ter  kind  o'  like  ter  hold  onter  titles.  Now  over  here  a  man  likes 
ter  be  a  deacon  'n'  a  cap'n  'n'  a  colonel  in  the  milishy  'n'  a  sheriff 
'n'  a  judge,  'n'  all  thet.  Lordy  massy,  I  don't  wonder  them  grand 
English  folks  sticks  to  their  grand  titles,  an'  the  people  all  kind 
o'  bows  down  to  'em,  as  they  did  to  Nebuchadnezzar's  golden 
image." 

"Why,  Sam,"  said  Ellery  Davenport,  "your  speculations  on 
politics  are  really  profound." 

"  Wai,"  said  Sam, "  Mr.  Devenport,  there 's  one  pint  I  want  ter 
consult  ye  'bout,  an'  thet  is,  what  the  king  o'  England's  name  is. 
There 's  Jake  Marshall  'n'  me,  we  's  argood  that  pint  these  many 
times.  Jake  ses  his  name  is  George  Rix,  —  R-i-x,  —  an'  thet 
ef  he  'd  come  over  here,  he  'd  be  called  Mr.  Rix.  I  ses  to  him, 
'  Why,  Jake,  't  ain't  Rix,  it 's  Rex,  an'  't  ain't  his  name,  it 's  his  title/ 
ses  I,  —  'cause  the  boys  told  me  thet  Rex  was  Latin  'n'  meant 
king ;  but  Jake  's  one  o'  them  fellers  thet  allers  thinks  he  knows. 
Now,  Mr.  Devenport,  I  'd  like  to  put  it  down  from  you  ter  him, 


WHAT   OUE  FOLKS  THOUGHT  ABOUT  IT.  543 

'cause  you  've  just  come  from  the  court  o'  England,  an'  you  'd 
know." 

"  "Well,  you  may  tell  your  friend  Jake  that  you  are  quite  in 
the  right,"  said  Ellery  Davenport.  "  Give  him  my  regards,  and 
tell  him  he  'a  been  mistaken." 

"  But  you  don't  call  the  king  Rex  when  ye  speak  to  'im,  do 
yer  ?  "  said  Sam. 

"  Not  precisely,"  said  Ellery  Davenport. 

"  Mis'  Badger,"  said  Sam,  gravely, "  this  'ere  milk 's  come  to  the 
bile,  'n'  ef  you  '11  be  so  kind 's  to  hand  me  the  sperits  'n'  the  sugar, 
I  '11  fix  this  'ere.  Hepsy  likes  her  milk  punch  putty  hot." 

"  Well,  Sam,"  said  my  grandmother,  as  she  handed  him  the 
bottle,  "take  an  old  woman's  advice,  and  don't  go  stramming 
off  another  afternoon.  If  you  'd  been  steady  at  your  black- 
smithin',  you  might  have  earned  enough  money  to  buy  all  these 
things  yourself,  and  Hepsy  'd  like  it  a  great  deal  better." 

"  I  suppose  it 's  about  the  two  hundred  and  forty-ninth  time 
mother  has  told  him  that,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  with  an  air  of  weary 
endurance. 

"  Wai,  Mis'  Badger,"  said  Sam,  " ( all  work  an'  no  play  makes 
Jack  a  dull  boy,'  ye  know.  I  hes  to  recreate,  else  I  gits  quite 
wore  out.  Why,  lordy  massy,  even  a  saw-mill  hes  ter  stop 
sometimes  ter  be  greased.  'T  ain't  everybody  thet  's  like  Sphyxy 
Smith,  but  she  grits  and  screeches  all  the  time,  jest  'cause  she 
keeps  to  work  without  bein'  'iled.  Why,  she  could  work  on,  day  V 
night,  these  twenty  years,  'n'  never  feel  it.  But,  lordy  massy,  I 
gits  so  'xhausted,  an'  hes  sech  a  sinking  't  my  stomach,  V  then 
I  goes  out  'n'  kind  o'  Injunirt  round,  an'  git  flag-root  'n'  winter- 
green  'n'  spruce  boughs  'n'  gensing  root  'n'  sarsafrass  'n'  sich  fur 
Hepsy  to  brew  up  a  beer.  I  ain't  a  wastin'  my  time  ef  I  be 
enjoyin'  myself.  I  say  it 's  a  part  o'  what  we 's  made  for." 

"You  are  a  true  philosopher,  Sam,"  said  Ellery  Davenport. 

"  Wai,"  said  Sam,  "  I  look  at  it  this  'ere  way,  —  ef  I  keep  on 
a  grindin'  and  a  grindin'  day  'n'  night,  I  never  shell  hev  nothin', 
but  ef  I  takes  now  'n'  then  an  arternoon  to  lie  roun'  in  the  sun, 
I  gits  suthin'  's  I  go  'long.  Lordy  massy,  it 's  jest  all  the  comfort 
I  hes,  kind  o'  watchin*  the  clouds  'n'  the  birds,  'n'  kind  o'  forgettin' 
all  'bout  Hepsy  'n'  the  children  'n'  the  blacksmithin'." 


544  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  smartly,  "  I  think  you  are  forgetting 
all  about  Hepsy  and  the  children  now,  and  I  advise  you  to  get 
that  milk  punch  home  as  quick  as  you  can,  if  it 's  going  to  do  her 
any  good.  Come,  here  's  a  tin  pail  to  put  it  into.  Cover  it  up, 
and  do  let  the  poor  woman  have  some  comfort  as  well  as  you ! " 

Sam  received  his  portion  in  silence,  and,  with  reluctant  glances 
at  the  warm  circle,  went  out  into  the  night. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  all  can  bear  to  listen  to  that  man's 
maundering ! "  said  Aunt  Lois.  "  He  puts  me  out  of  all  sort 
of  patience.  '  Head  of  the  woman '  to  be  sure !  when  Hepsy 
earns  the  most  of  what  that  family  uses,  except  what  we 
give  'em.  And  I  know  exactly  how  she  feels ;  the  poor  woman 
is  mad  with  shame  and  humiliation  half  the  time  at  the  char- 
ities he  will  accept  from  us." 

"  O  come,  Miss  Lois,"  said  Ellery  Davenport,  "  you  must  take 
an  aesthetic  view  of  him.  Sam  ^  a  genuine  poet  in  his  nature, 
and  poets  are  always  practically  useless.  And  now  Sam 's  about 
the  only  person  in  Oldtown,  that  I  have  seen,  that  has  the  least 
idea  that  life  is  meant,  in  any  way,  for  enjoyment.  Everybody 
else  seems  to  be  sword  in  hand,  fighting  against  the  possibility 
of  future  suffering,  toiling  and  depriving  themselves  of  all  pres- 
ent pleasure,  so  that  they  may  not  come  to  want  by  and  by. 
Now  I  've  been  in  countries  where  the  whole  peasantry  are  like 
Sam  Lawson." 

"  Good  gracious ! "  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  what  a  time  they  must 
have  of  it!" 

"  Well,  to  say  the  truth,  there 's  not  much  progress  in  such 
communities,  but  there  is  a  great  deal  of  clear,  sheer  animal 
enjoyment.  And  when  trouble  comes,  it  comes  on  them  as  it 
does  on  animals,  unfeared  and  unforeseen,  and  therefore  unpro- 
vided for." 

"  Well,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  you  don't  think  that  is  the 
way  for  rational  and  immortal  creatures  to  live  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Ellery  Davenport,  "taking  into  account  the 
rational  and  immortal,  perhaps  not ;  but  I  think  if  we  could  mix 
the  two  races  together  it  would  be  better.  The  Yankee  lives 
almost  entirely  for  the  future,  the  Italian  enjoys  the  present." 


WHAT   OUR  FOLKS  THOUGHT  ABOUT  IT.  545 

"  Well,  but  do  you  think  it  is  right  to  live  merely  to  enjoy  the 
present  ?  "  persisted  Aunt  Lois. 

"  The  eternal  question  ! "  said  Ellery.  "  After  all,  who  knows 
anything  about  it  ?  What  is  right,  and  what  is  wrong  ?  Mere 
geographical  accidents !  What  is  right  for  the  Greenlander  is 
wrong  for  me ;  what  is  right  for  me  is  wrong  for  the  Hindoo. 
Take  the  greatest  saint  on  earth  to  Greenland,  and  feed  him  on 
train  oil  and  candles,  and  you  make  one  thing  of  him ;  put  him 
under  the  equator,  with  the  thermometer  at  one  hundred  in  the 
shade,  and  you  make  another." 

"But  right  is  right  and  wrong  is  wrong,"  said  Aunt  Lois, 
persistently,  "  after  all." 

"  I  sometimes  think,"  said  Ellery  Davenport,  "  that  right  and 
wrong  are  just  like  color,  mere  accidental  properties.  There  is 
no  color  where  there 's  no  light,  and  a  thing  is  all  sorts  of  colors 
according  to  the  position  you  stand  in  and  the  hour  of  the  day. 
There's  your  rocking-chair  in  the  setting  sun  becomes  a  fine 
crimson,  and  in  the  morning  comes  out  dingy  gray.  So  it  is 
with  human  actions.  There's  nothing  so  bad  that  you  cannot 
see  a  good  side  to  it,  nothing  so  good  that  you  cannot  see  a  bad 
side  to  it.  Now  we  think  it's  shocking  for  our  Indian  tribes, 
some  of  them,  to  slay  their  old  people ;  but  I  'm  not  sure,  if 
the  Indian  could  set  forth  his  side  of  the  case,  with  all  the 
advantages  of  our  rhetoric,  but  that  he  would  have  the  best  of 
it.  He  does  it  as  an  act  of  filial  devotion,  you  see.  He  loves 
and  honors  his  father  too  much  to  let  him  go  through  all  that 
horrid  process  of  draining  out  life  drop  by  drop  that  we  think  the 
thing  to  protract  in  our  high  civilization.  For  my  part,  if  I  were 
an  Indian  chief,  I  should  prefer,  when  I  came  to  be  seventy,  to 
be  respectfully  knocked  on  the  head  by  my  oldest  son,  rather 
than  to  shiver  and  drivel  and  muddle  and  cough  my  life  out  a 
dozen  years  more." 

"  But  God  has  given  his  commandments  to  teach  us  what  is 
right,"  said  Aunt  Lois.  "  *  Honor  thy  father  and  mother.' " 

"  Precisely,"  said  Ellery ;  "  and  my  friends  the  Sioux  would 
tell  you  that  they  do  honor  their  fathers  and  mothers  by  respect- 
fully putting  them  out  of  the  way  when  there  is  no  more  pleasure 

ii 


546  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

in  living.  They  send  them  to  enjoy  eternal  youth  in  the  hunt- 
ing-grounds of  the  fathers,  you  know." 

"  Positively,  Ellery,"  said  Tina,  "  I  sha'  n't  have  this  sort  of 
heathen  stuff  talked  any  longer.  Why,  you  put  one's  head  all  in 
a  whirl !  and  you  know  you  don't  believe  a  word  of  it  yourself. 
What 's  the  use  of  making  everybody  think  you  're  worse  than 
you  are?" 

"  My  dear,"  said  Ellery,  "  there 's  nothing  like  hearing  all  that 
can  be  said  on  both  sides  of  subjects.  Now  there's  my  good 
grandfather  made  an  argument  on  the  will,  that  is,  and  forever  will 
remain,  unanswerable,  because  he  proves  both  sides  of  a  flat 
contradiction  perfectly ;  that  method  makes  a  logic-trap  out  of 
which  no  mortal  can  get  his  foot." 

"  Well,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  Mr.  Davenport,  if  you  '11  take 
an  old  woman's  advice,  you  '11  take  up  with  your  grandfather's 
good  resolutions,  and  not  be  wasting  your  strength  in  such  talk." 

"I  believe  there  were  about  seventy-five  —  or  eighty,  was 
it  ?  —  of  those  resolutions,"  said  Ellery. 

"  And  you  would  n't  be  the  worse  for  this  world  or  the  next  if 
you  'd  make  them  yourself,"  said  my  grandmother. 

«  Thank  you,  madam,"  said  Ellery,  bowing,  "  I  '11  think  of  it." 

"  Well,  come,"  said  Tina^  rising,  "  it's  time  for  us  to  go ;  and," 
she  said,  shaking  her  finger  warningly  at  Ellery  Davenport, 
"  I  have  a  private  lecture  for  you." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  he  said,  with  a  shrug  of  mock  apprehension ; 
"  the  preaching  capacities  of  the  fair  sex  are  something  terrific. 
I  see  all  that  is  before  me." 

They  bade  adieu,  the  fire  was  raked  up  in  the  great  fireplace, 
all  the  members  of  the  family  went  their  several  ways  to  bed, 
but  Harry  and  I  sat  up  in  the  glimmer  and  gloom  of  the  old 
kitchen,  lighted,  now  and  then,  by  a  sputtering  jet  of  flame, 
which  burst  from  the  sticks.  All  round  the  large  dark  hearth 
the  crickets  were  chirping  as  if  life  were  the  very  merriest  thing 
possible. 

"  Well,  Harry,"  I  said,  "  you  see  the  fates  have  ordered  it  just 
as  I  feared." 

"It  is  almost  as  much  of  a  disappointment  to  me  as  it  can 


WHAT   OUB  FOLKS  THOUGHT  ABOUT  IT.  547 

be  to  you,"  said  Harry.  "And  it  is  the  more  so  because  I 
cannot  quite  trust  this  man." 

"  I  never  trusted  him,"  said  I.  "  I  always  had  an  instinctive 
doubt  of  him/' 

"  My  doubts  are  not  instinct,"  said  Harry,  "  they  are  founded 
on  things  I  have  heard  him  say  myself.  It  seems  to  me  that  he 
has  formed  the  habit  of  trifling  with  all  truth,  and  that  nothing  is 
sacred  in  his  eyes." 

"  And  yet  Tina  loves  him,"  said  I.  "  I  can  see  that  she  has 
gone  to  him  heart  and  soul,  and  she  believes  in  him  with  all  her 
heart,  and  so  we  can  only  pray  that:  he  may  be  true  to  her.  As 
for  me,  I  can  never  love  another.  It  only  remains  to  live 
worthily  of  my  love." 


548  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

CHAPTER    XLIV. 

MARRIAGE    PREPARATIONS. 

AND  now  for  a  time  there  was  nothing  thought  of  or  talked 
of  but  marriage  preparations  and  arrangements.     Letters 
of  congratulation  came  pouring  in  to  Miss  Mehitable  from  her 
Boston  friends  and  acquaintances. 

When  Harry  and  I  returned  to  college,  we  spent  one  day  with 
our  friends  the  Kitterys,  and  found  it  the  one  engrossing  subject 
there,  as  everywhere. 

Dear  old  Madam  Kittery  was  dissolved  in  tenderness,  and 
whenever  the  subject  was  mentioned  reiterated  all  her  good 
opinions  of  Ellery,  and  her  delight  in  the  engagement,  and  her 
sanguine  hopes  of  its  good  influence  on  his  spiritual  prospects. 

Miss  Debby  took  the  subject  up  energetically.  Ellery  Daven- 
port was  a  near  family  connection,  and  it  became  the  Kitterys  to 
make  all  suitable  and  proper  advances.  She  insisted  upon  ad- 
dressing Harry  by  his  title,  notwithstanding  his  blushes  and 
disclaimers. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  she  said  to  him,  "  it  appears  that  you  are  an 
Englishman  and  a  subject  of  his  Majesty ;  and  I  should  not  be 
surprised,  at  some  future  day,  to  hear  of  you  in  the  House  of 
Commons ;  and  it  becomes  you  to  reflect  upon  your  position, 
and  what  is  proper  in  relation  to  yourself;  and,  at  least  under 
this  roof,  you  must  allow  me  to  observe  these  proprieties,  how- 
ever much  they  may  be  disregarded  elsewhere.  I  have  already 
informed  the  servants  that  they  are  always  to  address  you  as 
Sir  Harry,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  not  interfere  with  my  in- 
structions." 

"  O  certainly  not,"  said  Harry.  "  It  will  make  very  little 
difference  with  me." 

"  Now,  in  regard  to  this  marriage,"  said  Miss  Debby,  "  as  there 
is  no  church  in  Oldtown,  and  no  clergyman,  I  have  felt  that  it 


MARRIAGE  PREPARATIONS.  549 

would  be  proper  in  me,  as  a  near  kinswoman  to  Mr.  Davenport, 
to  place  the  Kittery  mansion  at  Miss  Mehitable  Rossiter's  dis- 
posal, for  the  wedding." 

"  Well,  I  confess,"  said  Harry,  blushing,  "  I  never  thought  but 
that  the  ceremony  would  be  performed  at  home,  by  Parson 
Lothrop." 

"  My  dear  Sir  Harry ! "  said  Miss  Debby,  laying  her  hand  on 
his  arm  with  solemnity,  "  consider  that  your  excellent  parents, 
Sir  Harry  and  Lady  Percival,  were  both  members  of  the  Estab- 
lished Church  of  England,  the  only  true  Apostolic  Protestant 
Church,  —  and  can  you  imagine  that  their  spirits,  looking  down 
from  heaven,  would  be  pleased  and  satisfied  that  their  daughter 
should  consummate  the  most  solemn  union  of  her  life  out  of  the 
Church  ?  and  in  fact  at  the  hands  of  a  man  who  has  never  re- 
ceived ordination  ?  " 

It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  Harry  kept  his  countenance 
during  this  solemn  address.  His  blue  eyes  actually  laughed, 
though  he  exercised  a  rigid  control  over  the  muscles  of  his  face. 

"  I  really  had  not  thought  about  it  at  all,  Miss  Debby,"  he 
said.  "  I  think  you  are  exceedingly  kind." 

"  And  I  'm  sure,"  said  she,  "  that  you  must  see  the  propriety 
of  it  now  that  it  is  suggested  to  you.  Of  course,  a  marriage  per- 
formed by  Mr.  Lothrop  would  be  a  legal  one,  so  far  as  the  civil 
law  is  concerned;  but  I  confess  I  always  have  regarded  mar- 
riage as  a  religious  ordinance,  and  it  would  be  a  disagreeable 
thing  to  me  to  have  any  connections  of  mine  united  merely  by  a 
civil  tie.  These  Congregational  marriages,"  said  Miss  Debby, 
in  a  contemptuous  voice,  "  I  should  think  would  lead  to  immoral- 
ity. How  can  people  feel  as  if  they  were  married  that  don't 
utter  any  vows  themselves,  and  don't  have  any  wedding-ring  put 
on  their  finger  ?  In  my  view,  it 's  not  respectable ;  and,  as  Mrs. 
Ellery  Davenport  will  probably  be  presented  in  the  first  circles 
of  England,  I  desire  that  she  should  appear  there  with  her  wed- 
ding-ring on,  like  an  honest  woman.  I  have  therefore  despatched 
an  invitation  to  Miss  Mehitable  to  bring  your  sister  and  spend 
the  month  preceding  the  wedding  with  us  in  Boston.  It  will  be 
desirable  for  other  reasons,  as  all  the  shopping  and  dressmaking 


550  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

and  millinery  work  must  be  done  in  Boston.  Oldtown  is  a 
highly  respectable  little  village,  but,  of  course,  affords  no  advan- 
tages for  the  outfit  of  a  person  of  quality,  such  as  your  sister  is 
and  is  to  be.  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Lady  Widgery  this  morn- 
ing. She  is  much  delighted,  and  sends  congratulations.  She 
always,  she  said,  believed  that  you  had  distinguished  blood  in 
your  veins  when  she  first  saw  you  at  our  house." 

There  was  something  in  Miss  Debby's  satisfied,  confiding  faith 
in  everything  English  and  aristocratic  that  was  vastly  amusing 
to  us.  The  perfect  confidence  she  seemed  to  have  that  Sir 
Harry  Percival,  after  all  the  sins  of  his  youth,  had  entered 
heaven  ex  officio  as  a  repentant  and  glorified  baronet,  a  member 
of  the  only  True  Church,  was  really  naive  and  affecting.  What 
would  a  church  be  good  for  that  allowed  people  of  quality  to  go 
lo  hell,  like  the  commonalty?  Sir  Harry,  of  course,  repented, 
and  made  his  will  in  a  proper  manner,  doubtless  received  the 
sacrament  and  absolution,  and  left  all  human  infirmities,  with  his 
gouty  toes,  under  the  family  monument,  where  his  body  reposed 
in  sure  and  certain  hope  of  a  blessed  and  glorious  resurrection. 
The  finding  of  his  children  under  such  fortunate  circumstances 
was  another  evidence  of  the  good  Providence  who  watches  over 
the  fortunes  of  the  better  classes,  and  does  not  suffer  the  steps 
of  good  Churchmen  to  slide  beyond  recovery. 

There  were  so  many  reasons  of  convenience  for  accepting 
Madam.  Kittery's  hospitable  invitation,  it  was  urged  with  such 
warmth  and  affectionate  zeal  by  Madam  Kittery  and  Miss  Debby, 
and  seconded  so  energetically  by  Ellery  Davenport,  to  whom 
this  arrangement  would  secure  easy  access  to  Tina's  society  dur- 
ing the  intervening  time,  that  it  was  accepted. 

Harry  and  I  were  glad  of  it,  as  we  should  thus  have  more 
frequent  opportunities  of  seeing  her.  Ellery  Davenport  was  re- 
furbishing and  refurnishing  the  old  country  house,  where  Harry 
and  Tina  had  spent  those  days  of  their  childhood  which  it  was 
now  an  amusement  to  recall,  and  Tina  was  as  gladly,  joyously 
beautiful  as  young  womanhood  can  be  in  which,  as  in  a  trans- 
parent vase,  the  light  of  pure  love  and  young  hope  has  been 
lighted. 


MARRIAGE  PREPARATIONS.  551 

"  You  like  him,  Horace,  don't  you  ?  "  she  had  said  to  me,  coax- 
ingly,  the  first  opportunity  after  the  evening  we  had  spent  together. 
What  was  I  to  do  ?  I  did  not  like  him,  that  was  certain ;  but 
have  you  never,  dear  reader,  been  over-persuaded  to  think  and 
say  you  liked  where  you  did  not  ?  Have  you  not  scolded  and 
hushed  down  your  own  instinctive  distrusts  and  heart-risings, 
blamed  and  schooled  yourself  for  them,  and  taken  yourself  sharply 
to  task,  and  made  yourself  acquiesce  in  somebody  that  was  dear 
and  necessary  to  some  friend  ?  So  did  I.  I  called  myself  self- 
ish, unreasonable,  foolish.  I  determined  to  be  generous  to  my 
successful  rival,  and  to  like  him.  I  took  his  frankly  offered 
friendship,  and  I  forced  myself  to  be  even  enthusiastic  in  his 
praise.  It  was  a  sure  way  of  making  Tina's  cheeks  glow  and  her 
eyes  look  kindly  on  me,  and  she  told*  me  so  often  that  there  was 
no  person  in  the  world  whose  good  opinion  she  had  such  a  value 
for,  and  she  was  so  glad  I  liked  him.  Would  it  not  be  perfectly 
abominable  after  this  to  let  sneaking  suspicions  harbor  in  my 
breast  ? 

Besides,  if  a  man  cannot  have  love,  shall  he  therefore  throw 
away  friendship  ?  and  may  I  not  love  with  the  love  of  chivalry,  — 
the  love  that  knights  dedicated  to  queens  and  princesses,  the  love 
that  Tasso  gave  to  Leonora  D'Este,  the  love  that  Dante  gave  to 
Beatrice,  love  that  hopes  little  and  asks  nothing  ? 

I  was  frequently  in  at  the  Kittery  house  in  leisure  hours,  and 
when,  as  often  happened,  Tina  was  closeted  with  Ellery  Daven- 
port, I  took  sweet  counsel  with  Miss  Mehitable. 

"  We  all  stand  outside  now,  Horace,"  she  said.  "  I  remember 
when  /had  the  hearing  of  all  these  thousand  pretty  little  impor- 
tant secrets  of  the  hour  that  now  must  all  be  told  in  another 
direction.  Such  is  life.  What  we  want  always  comes  to  us  with 
some  pain.  I  wanted  Tina  to  be  well  married.  I  would  not  for 
the  world  she  should  marry  without  just  this  sort  of  love ;  but  of 
course  it  leaves  me  out  in  the  cold.  I  would  n't  say  this  to  her 
for  the  world,  —  poor  little  thing,  it  would  break  her  heart." 

One  morning,  however,  I  went  down  and  found  Miss  Mehitable 
in  a  very  excited  state.  She  complained  of  a  bad  headache,  but 
she  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  person  who  is  constantly  strug- 


552  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

gling  with  something  which  she  is  doubtful  of  the  expediency  of 
uttering. 

At  last,  just  as  I  was  going,  she  called  me  into  the  library. 
"  Come  here,  Horace,"  she  said ;  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

I  went  in,  and  she  made  a  turn  or  two  across  the  room  in  an 
agitated  way,  then  sat  down  at  a  table,  and  motioned  me  to  sit 
down. "  "  Horace,  my  dear  boy,"  she  said,  "  I  have  never  spoken 
to  you  of  the  deepest  sorrow  of  my  life,  and  yet  it  often  seems  to 
me  as  if  you  knew  it." 

"  My  dear  Aunty,"  said  I,  for  we  had  from  childhood  called  her 
thus,  "  I  think  I  do  know  it, —  somewhat  vaguely.  I  know  about 
your  sister." 

"  You  know  how  strangely,  how  unaccountably  she  left  us,  and 
that  nothing  satisfactory  has  ever  been  heard  from  her.  I  told 
Mr.  Davenport  all  about  her,  and  he  promised  to  try  to  learn 
something  of  her  in  Europe.  He  was  so  successful  in  relation  to 
Tina  and  Harry,  I  hoped  he  might  learn  something  as  to  her ; 
but  he  never  seemed  to.  Two  or  three  times  within  the  last 
four  or  five  years  I  have  received  letters  from  her,  but  with- 
out date,  or  any  mark  by  which  her  position  could  be  identified. 
They  told  me,  in  the  vaguest  and  most  general  way,  that 
she  was  well,  and  still  loved  me,  but  begged  me  to  make  no 
inquiries.  They  were  always  postmarked  at  Havre ;  but  the 
utmost  research  gives  no  clew  to  her  residence  there." 

"Well?  "said  I. 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  trembling  in  every  limb,  "  yes- 
terday, when  Mr.  Davenport  and  Tina  had  been  sitting  together 
in  this  room  for  a  long  time,  they  went  out  to  ride.  They  had 
been  playing  at  verse-making,  or  something  of  the  kind,  and  there 
were  some  scattered  papers  on  the  floor,  and  I  thought  I  would 
remove  them,  as  they  were  rather  untidy,  and  among  them  I 
found  —  "  she  stopped,  and  panted  for  breath  —  "I  found  THIS  ! " 

She  handed  me  an  envelope  that  had  evidently  been  around  a 
package  of  papers.  It  was  postmarked  Geneva,  Switzerland, 
and  directed  to  Ellery  Davenport. 

"  Horace,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  "  that  is  Emily  Rossiter's 
handwriting;  and  look,  the  date  is  only  two  months  back! 
What  shall  we  do  ?  " 


MARRIAGE  PREPARATIONS.  553 

There  are  moments  when  whole  trains  of  thought  go  through 
the  brain  like  lightning.  My  first  emotion  was,  I  confess,  a  per- 
fectly fierce  feeling  of  joy.  Here  was  a  clew !  My  suspicions 
had  not  then  been  unjust ;  the  man  was  what  Miss  Debby  had 
sai^  —  deep,  artful,  and  to  be  unmasked.  In  a  moment  I  sternly 
rebuked  myself,  and  thought  what  a  wretch  I  was  for  my  sus- 
picions. The  very  selfish  stake  that  I  held  in  any  such  discovery 
imposed  upon  me,  in  my  view,  a  double  obligation  to  defend  the 
character  of  my  rival.  I  so  dreaded  that  I  should  be  carried 
away  that  I  pleaded  strongly  and  resolutely  with  myself  for  him. 
Besides,  what  would  Tina  think  of  me  if  I  impugned  Ellery 
Davenport's  honor  for  what  might  be,  after  all,  an  accidental 
resemblance  in  handwriting. 

All  these  things  came  in  one  blinding  flash  of  thought  as  I 
held  the  paper  in  my  hands.  Miss  Mehitable  sat,  white  and 
trembling,  looking  at  me  piteously. 

"  My  dear  Aunty,"  I  said,  "  in  a  case  like  this  we  cannot  take 
one  single  step  without  being  perfectly  sure.  This  handwriting 
may  accidentally  resemble  your  sister's.  Are  you  perfectly  sure 
that  it  is  hers  ?  It  is  a  very  small  scrap  of  paper  to  determine  by/' 

"  Well,  I  can't  really  say,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  hesitating. 
"  It  may  be  that  I  have  dwelt  on  this  subject  until  I  have  grown 
nervous  and  my  very  senses  deceive  me.  I  really  cannot  say, 
Horace;  that  was  the  reason  I  came  to  you  to  ask  what  I  should 
do." 

"  Let  us  look  the  matter  over  calmly,  Aunty." 

"  Now,"  she  said,  nervously  drawing  from  her  pocket  two  or 
three  letters  and  opening  them  before  me,  "  here  are  those  let- 
ters, and  your  head  is  cool  and  steady.  I  wish  you  would 
compare  the  writing,  and  tell  me  what  to  think  of  it." 

Now  the  letters  and  the  directions  were  in  that  sharp,  decided 
English  hand  which  so  many  well-educated  women  write,  and  in 
which  personal  peculiarities  are  lost,  to  a  great  degree,  in  a  gen- 
eral style.  I  could  not  help  seeing  that  there  was  a  resemblance 
which  might  strike  a  person,  —  especially  a  person  so  deeply 
interested,  and  dwelling  with  such  intentness  upon  a  subject, 
as  Miss  Mehitable  evidently  was. 

24 


554  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  My  dear  Aunty,"  said  I,  "  I  see  a  resemblance ;  but  have  you 
not  known  a  great  many  ladies  who  wrote  hands  like  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  must  say  I  have,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  still  hesitat- 
ing, —  "  only,  somehow,  this  impressed  me  very  strongly." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "supposing  that  your  sister  has  written  to 
Ellery  Davenport,  may  she  not  have  intrusted  him  with  com- 
munications under  his  promise  of  secrecy,  which  he  was  bound 
in  honor  not  to  reveal?" 

"  That  may  be  possible,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  sighing  deeply  ; 
*'  but  0,  why  should  she  not  make  a  confidante  of  me  ?  " 

"  It  may  be,  Aunty,"  said  I,  hesitatingly,  "  that  she  is  living  in 
relations  that  she  feels  could  not  be  justified  to  you." 

"  0  Horace  !  "  said  Miss  Mehitable. 

"  You  know,"  -I  went  on,  "  that  there  has  been  a  very  great 
shaking  of  old  established  opinions  in  Europe.  A  great  many 
things  are  looked  upon  there  as  open  questions,  in  regard  to  mo- 
rality, which  we  here  in  New  England  never  think  of  discussing. 
Ellery  Davenport  is  a  man  of  the  European  world,  and  I  can 
easily  see  that  there  may  be  circumstances  in  which  your  sister 
would  more  readily  resort  to  the  friendship  of  such  a  man  than 
to  yours." 

"  May  God  help  me ! "  said  Miss  Mehitable. 

"  My  dear  Aunty,  suppose  you  find  that  your  sister  has  adopted 
a  false  theory  of  life,  sincerely  and  conscientiously,  and  under  the 
influence  of  it  gone  astray  from  what  we  in  New  England  think 
to  be  right.  Should  we  not  make  a  discrimination  between  er- 
rors that  come  from  a  wrong  belief  and  the  mere  weakness  that 
blindly  yields  to  passion  ?  Your  sister's  letters  show  great  decis- 
ion and  strength  of  mind.  It  appears  to  me  that  she  is  exactly 
the  woman  to  be  misled  by  those  dazzling,  unsettling  theories 
with  regard  to  social  life  which  now  bear  such  sway,  and  are 
especially  propagated  by  French  literature.  She  may  really 
and  courageously  deem  herself  doing  right  in  a  course  that  she 
knows  she  cannot  defend  to  you  and  Mr.  Rossiter." 

"  Horace,  you  speak  out  and  make  plain  what  has  been  the 
secret  and  dreadful  fear  of  my  life.  I  never  have  believed 
that  Emily  could  have  gone  from  us  all,  and  stayed  away  so 


MARRIAGE   PREPARATIONS.  555 

long,  without  the  support  of  some  attachment.  And  while  you 
have  been  talking  I  have  become  perfectly  certain  that  it  is  so ; 
but  the  thought  is  like  death  to  me." 

"  My  dear  Aunty,"  I  said,  "  our  Father  above,  who  sees  all  the 
history  of  our  minds,  and  how  they  work,  must  have  a  toleration 
and  a  patience  that  we  have  not  with  each  other.  He  says  that 
he  will  bring  the  blind  by  a  way  they  knew  not,  and  '  make 
darkness  light  before  them,  and  crooked  things  straight';  and 
he  adds,  '  These  things  will  I  do  unto  them,  and  will  not  forsake 
them.'  That  has  always  seemed  to  me  the  most  godlike  passage 
in  the  Bible." 

Miss  Mehitable  sat  for  a  long  time,  leaning  her  head  upon  her 
hand. 

"  Then,  Horace,  you  would  n't  advise  me,"  she  said,  after  a 
pause,  "  to  say  anything  to  Ellery  Davenport  about  it  ?  " 

"  Supposing,"  said  1,  "  that  there  are  communications  that  he 
is  bound  in  honor  not  to  reveal,  of  what  use  could  be  your 
inquiries  ?  It  can  only  create  unpleasantness ;  it  may  make 
Tina  feel  unhappy,  who  is  so  very  happy  now,  and  probably,  at 
best,  you  cannot  learn  anything  that  would  satisfy  you." 

"  Probably  not,"  said  she,  sighing. 

"  I  can  hand  this  envelope  to  him,"  I  said  after  a  moment's 
thought,  "  this  evening,  if  you  think  best,  and  you  can  see  how 
he  looks  on  receiving  it." 

"  I  don't  know  as  it  will  be  of  any  use,"  said  Miss  Mehitable, 
"  but  you  may  do  it." 

Accordingly,  that  evening,  as  we  were  all  gathered  in  a  circle 
around  the  open  fire,  and  Tina  and  Ellery,  seated  side  by  side, 
were  carrying  on  that  sort  of  bantering  warfare  of  wit  in  which 
they  delighted,  I  drew  this  envelope  from  my  pocket  and  said, 
carelessly," "  Mr.  Davenport,  here  is  a  letter  of  yours  that  you 
Iropped  in  the  library  this  morning." 

He  was  at  that  moment  playing  with  a  silk  tassel  which  flut- 
tered from  Tina's  wrist.  He  let  it  go,  and  took  the  envelope  and 
looked  at  it  carelessly. 

"  A  letter  ! "  said  Tina,  snatching  it  out  of  his  hand  with  saucy 
freedom,  —  "  dated  at  Geneva,  and  a  lady's  handwriting !  1 
think  I  have  a  right  to  open  it !  " 


556  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  Do  so  by  all  means,"  said  Ellery. 

"  0  pshaw  !  there  's  nothing  in  it,"  said  Tina. 

"Not  an  uncommon  circumstance  in  a  lady's  letter,"  said 
Ellery. 

"  You  saucy  fellow  !  "  said  Tina. 

"  Why,"  said  Ellery,  "  is  it  not  the  very  province  and  privilege 
of  the  fair  sex  to  make  nothing  more  valuable  and  more  ngree- 
able  than  something  ?  that 's  the  true  secret  of  witchcraft." 

"  But  I  sha'  n't  like  it,"  said  Tina,  half  pouting,  "  if  you  call 
my  letters  nothing." 

"  Your  letters,  I  doubt  not,  will  be  an  exception  to  those  of 
all  the  sex,"  said  Ellery.  "  I  really  tremble,  when  I  think  how 
profound  they  will  be  !  " 

"  You  are  making  fun  of  me !  "  said  she,  coloring. 

"  I  making  fun  of  you  ?  And  what  have  you  been  doing  with 
all  your  hapless  lovers  up  to  this  time  ?  Behold  Nemesis  arrayed 
in  my  form." 

"  But  seriously,  Ellery,  I  want  to  know  whom  this  letter  was 
from?" 

"  Why  don't  you  look  at  the  signature  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Well,  of  course  you  know  there  is  no  signature,  but  I  mean 
what  came  in  this  paper  ?  " 

"What  came  in  the  paper,"  said  Ellery,  carelessly,  "was 
a  neat  little  collection  of  AJpine  flowers,  that,  if  you  are  interested 
in  botany,  I  shall  have  the  honor  of  showing  you  one  of  these 
days." 

"  But  you  have  n't  told  me  who  sent  them,"  said  Tina. 

"  Ah,  ha  !  we  are  jealous  ! "  said  he,  shaking  the  letter  at  her. 
"  What  would  you  give  to  know,  now  ?  Will  you  be  very  good 
if  I  will  tell  you  ?  Will  you  promise  me  for  the  future  not  to 
order  me  to  do  more  than  forty  things  at  one  time,  for  ex- 
ample?" 

"  I  sha'  n't  make  any  promises,"  said  Tina ;  "  you  ought  to  tell 
me ! " 

"  What  an  oppressive  mistress  you  are !  "  said  Ellery  Dav- 
enport. "I  begin  to  sympathize  with  Sam  Lawson,  —  lordy 
massy,  you  dunno  nothin'  what  I  undergo !  " 


MARRIAGE  PREPARATIONS.  557 

"  You  don't  get  off  that  way,"  said  Tina. 

"  Well,"  said  Ellery  Davenport,  "  if  you  must  know,  it 's  Mrs. 
Breck." 

"  And  who  is  she  ?  "  said  Tina. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  she  was  my  boarding-house  keeper  at  Ge- 
neva, and  a  very  pretty,  nice  Englishwoman,  —  one  that  I  should 
recommend  as  an  example  to  her  sex." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Tina,  "  I  don't  care  anything  about  it  now." 

"  Of  course/'  said  Ellery.  "  Modest,  unpretending  virtue 
never  excites  any  interest.  I  have  labored  under  that  disadvan- 
tage all  my  days." 

The  by-play  between  the  two  had  brought  the  whole  circle 
around  the  fire  into  a  careless,  laughing  state.  I  looked  across 
to  Miss  Mehitable ;  she  was  laughing  with  the  rest.  As  we 
started  to  go  out,  Miss  Mehitable  followed  me  into  the  passage- 
way. "  My  dear  Horace,"  she  said,  "  I  was  very  absurd  ;  it  comes 
of  being  nervous  and  thinking  of  one  thing  too  much." 


558  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

WEDDING   BELLS. 

THE  fourteenth  of  June  was  as  bright  a  morning  as  if  it  had 
been  made  on  purpose  for  a  wedding-day,  and  of  all  the  five 
thousand  inauspicious  possibilities  which  usually  encumber  wed- 
dings, not  one  fell  to  our  share. 

Tina's  dress,  for  example,  was  all  done  two  days  beforehand, 
and  fitted  to  a  hair ;  and  all  the  invited  guests  had  come,  and 
were  lodged  in  the  spacious  Kittery  mansion. 

Esther  Avery  was  to  stand  as  bridesmaid,  with  me  as  grooms- 
man, and  Harry,  as  nearest  relative,  was  to  give  the  bride 
away.  The  day  before,  I  had  been  in  and  seen  both  ladies 
dressed  up  in  the  marriage  finery,  and  we  had  rehearsed  the 
situation  before  Harry,  as  clergyman,  Miss  Debby  being  pres- 
ent, in  one  of  her  most  commanding  frames  of  mind,  to  see  that 
everything  was  done  according  to  the  Rubric.  She  surveyed 
Esther,  while  she  took  an  approving  pinch  of  snuff,  and  re- 
marked to  me,  aside,  "  That  young  person,  for  a  Congregational 
parson's  daughter,  has  a  surprisingly  distinguished  air." 

Lady  Widgery  and  Lady  Lothrop,  who  were  also  in  at  the  in- 
spection, honored  Esther  with  their  decided  approbation. 

"  She  will  be  quite  presentable  at  court,"  Lady  Widgery 
remarked.  "  Of  course  Sir  Harry  will  wish  her  presented." 

All  this  empressement  in  regard  to  Harry's  rank  and  title, 
among  these  venerable  sisters,  afforded  great  amusement  to  our 
quartette,  and  we  held  it  a  capital  joke  among  ourselves  to 
make  Esther  blush  by  calling  her  Lady  Percival,  and  to  inquire 
of  Harry  about  his  future  parliamentary  prospects,  his  rent-rolls 
and  tenants.  In  fact,  when  together,  we  were  four  children,  and 
played  with  life  much  as  we  used  to  in  the  dear  old  days. 

Esther,  under  the  influence  of  hope  and  love,  had  bloomed  out 
into  a  beautiful  woman.  Instead  of  looking  like  a  pale  image  of 


WEDDING.  BELLS.  559 

abstract  thought,  she  seemed  like  warm  flesh  and  blood,  and 
Ellery  Davenport  remarked,  "  What  a  splendid  contrast  her 
black  hair  and  eyes  will  make  to  the  golden  beauty  of  Tina ! " 

All  Oldtown  respectability  had  exerted  itself  to  be  at  the  wed- 
ding. All,  however  humble,  who  had  befriended  Tina  and 
Harry  during  the  days  of  their  poverty,  were  bidden.  Polly 
had  been  long  sojourning  in  the  house,  in  the  capacity  of  Miss 
Mehitable's  maid,  and  assisting  assiduously  in  the  endless  sewing 
and  fine  laundry  work  which  precedes  a  wedding. 

On  this  auspicious  morning  she  came  gloriously  forth,  rustling  in 
a  stiff  changeable  lutestring,  her  very  Sunday  best,  and  with  her 
mind  made  up  to  enter  an  Episcopal  church  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life.  There  had,  in  fact,  occurred  some  slight  theological  skir- 
mishes between  Polly  and  the  High  Church  domestics  of  Miss 
Debby's  establishment,  and  Miss  Mehitable  was  obliged  lo  make 
stringent  representations  to  Polly  concerning  the  duty  of  sometimes 
repressing  her  testimony  for  truth  under  particular  circumstances. 

Polly  had  attended  one  catechising,  but  the  shock  produced 
upon  her  mind  by  hearing  doctrines  which  seemed  to  her  to  have 
such  papistical  tendencies  was  so  great  that  Miss  Mehitable 
begged  Miss  Debby  to  allow  her  to  be  excused  in  future.  Miss 
Debby  felt  that  the  obligations  of  politeness  owed  by  a  woman 
of  quality  to  an  invited  guest  in  her  own  house  might  take 
precedence  even  of  theological  considerations.  In  this  point  of 
view,  she  regarded  Congregationalists  with  a  well-bred,  compas- 
sionate tolerance,  and  very  willingly  acceded  to  whatever  Miss 
Mehitable  suggested. 

Harry  and  I  had  passed  the  night  before  the  wedding-day  at 
the  Kittery  mansion,  that  we  might  be  there  at  the  very  earliest 
hour  in  the  morning,  to  attend  to  all  those  thousand  and  one 
things  that  always  turn  up  for  attention  at  such  a  time. 

Madam  Kittery's  garden  commanded  a  distant  view  of  the 
sea,  and  I  walked  among  the  stately  alleys  looking  at  that 
splendid  distant  view  of  Boston  harbor,  which  seemed  so  bright 
and  sunny,  and  which  swooned  away  into  the  horizon  with  such 
an  ineffable  softness,  as  an  image  of  eternal  peace. 

As  I  stood  there  /-looking,  I  heard  a  light  footstep  behind  me, 


560  OLD1WN  FOLKS. 

and  Tina  came  up  suddenly  and  spattered  my  cheek  with  a  dewy 
rose  that  she  had  just  been  gathering. 

"  You  look  as  mournful  as  if  it  were  you  that  is  going  to  be 
married  !  "  she  said. 

"  Tina  !  "  I  said,  "  you  out  so  early  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  a  wonder.  The  fact  was,  I  had  a  bad  dream,  and 
could  not  sleep.  I  got  up  and  looked'  out  of  my  window,  and 
saw  you  here,  Horace,  so  I  dressed  me  quickly  and  ran  down. 
I  feel  a  little  bit  uncanny,  —  and  eerie,  as  the  Scotch  say,  —  and 
a  little  bit  sad,  too,  about  the  dear  old  days,  Horace.  We  have  had 
such  good  times  together,  —  first  we  three,  and  then  we  took 
Esther  in,  and  that  made  four ;  and  now,  Horace,  you  must  open 
the  ranks  a  little  wider  and  take  in  Ellery." 

"  But  five  is  an  uneven  number,"  said  I ;  "it  leaves  one  out  in 
the  cold." 

"  O  Horace !  I  hope  you  will  find  one  worthy  of  you,"  she 
said.  "  I  shall  have  a  place  in  my  heart  all  ready  for  her.  She 
shall  be  my  sister.  You  will  write  to  me,  won't  you  ?  Do  write. 
I  shall  so  want  to  hear  of  the  dear  old  things.  Every  stick  and 
stone,  every  sweetbrier-bush  and  huckleberry  patch  in  Oldtown, 
will  always  be  dear  to  me.  And  dear  old  precious  Aunty,  what 
ever  set  it  into  her  good  heart  to  think  of  taking  poor  little  me 
to  be  her  child  ?  and  it 's  too  bad  that  I  should  leave  her  so.  You 
know,  Horace,  I  have  a  small  income  all  my  own,  and  that  I 
mean  to  give  to  Aunty." 

Now  there  were  many  points  in  this  little  valedictory  of  Tina 
to  which  I  had  no  mind  to  respond,  and  she  looked,  as  she  was 
speaking,  with  tears  coming  in  her  great  soft  eyes,  altogether  too 
loving  and  lovely  to  be  a  safe  companion  to  one  forbidden  to 
hold  her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her,  and  I  felt  such  a  desperate 
temptation  in  that  direction  that  I  turned  suddenly  from  her. 
"  Does  Mr.  Davenport  approve  such  a  disposition  of  your  in- 
come ?  "  said  I,  in  a  constrained  voice. 

"  Mr.  Davenport !  Mr.  High  and  Mighty,"  she  said,  mimicking 
my  constrained  tone,  "what  makes  you  so  sulky  to  me  this 
morning  ?  " 

**  I  am  not  sulky,  Tina,  only  sad,"  I  said, 


WEDDING  BELLS.  561 

"  Come,  come,  Horace,  don't  be  sad,"  she  said,  coaxingly,  and 
putting  her  hand  through  my  arm.  "  Now  just  be  a  good  boy, 
and  walk  up  and  down  with  me  here  a  few  moments,  and  let  me 
tell  you  about  things." 

I  submitted  and  let  her  lead  me  off  passively.  "  You  see, 
Horace,"  she  said,  "  I  feel  for  poor  old  Aunty.  Hers  seems  to 
me  such  a  dry,  desolate  life ;  and  I  can't  help  feeling  a  sort  of 
self-reproach  when  I  think  of  it.  Why  should  I  have  health 
and  youth  and  strength  and  Ellery,  and  be  going  to  see  all  the 
beauty  and  glory  of  Europe,  while  she  sits  alone  at  home,  old 
and  poor,  and  hears  the  rain  drip  off  from  those  old  lilac-bushes  ? 
Oldtown  is  a  nice  place,  to  be  sure,  but  it  does  rain  a  great  deal 
there,  and  she  and  Folly  will  be  so  lonesome  without  me  to  make 
fun  for  them.  Now,  Horace,  you  must  promise  me  to  go  there  as 
much  as  you  can.  You  must  cultivate  Aunty  for  my  sake ;  and 
her  friendship  is  worth  cultivating  for  its  own  sake." 

"  I  know  it,"  -said  I ;  "  I  am  fully  aware  of  the  value  of  her 
mind  and  character." 

"You  and  Harry  ought  both  to  visit  her,"  said  Tina,  "and 
write  to  her,  and  take  her  advice.  Nothing  improves  a  young 
man  faster  than  such  female  friendship ;  it 's  worth  that  of  dozens 
of  us  girls." 

Tina  always  had  a  slight  proclivity  for  sermonizing,  but  a 
chapter  in  Ecclesiastes,  coming  from  little  preachers  with  lips 
and  eyes  like  hers,  is  generally  acceptable. 

"  You  know,"  said  Tina,  "  that  Aunty  has  some  sort  of  a 
trouble  on  her  mind." 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  said  I. 

"  Did  she  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  after  I  had  divined  it." 

"  I  made  her  tell  me,"  said  Tina.  "  When  I  came  home  from 
school,  I  determined  I  would  not  be  treated  like  a  child  by  her 
any  longer,  —  that  she  should  tell  me  her  troubles,  and  let  me  bear 
them  with  her.  I  am  young  and  full  of  hope,  and  ought  to  have 
troubles  to  bear.  And  she  is  worn  out  and  weary  with  thinking 
over  and  over  the  same  sad  story.  What  a  strange  thing  it  is  that 
that  sister  treats  her  so !  I  have  been  thinking  so  much  about 

24*  JJ 


562  OLDTOWK   FOLKS. 

her  lately,  Horace  ;  and,  do  you  know  ?  I  had  the  strangest  dream 
about  her  last  night.  I  dreamed  that  Ellery  and  I  were  stand- 
ing at  the  altar  being  married,  and,  all  of  a  sudden,  that  lady  that 
we  saw  in  the  closet  and  in  the  garret  rose  up  like  a  ghost 
between  us." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  I,  "  Tina,  you  are  getting  nervous.  One 
shouldn't  tell  of  one's  bad  dreams,  and  then  one  forgets  them 
easier." 

"  Well,"  said  Tina,  "  it  made  me  sad  to  think  that  she  was  a 
young  girl  like  me,  full  of  hope  and  joy.  They  did  n't  treat  her 
rightly  over  in  that  Farnsworth  family,  —  Miss  Mehitable  told 
me  all  about  it.  O,  it  was  a  dreadful  story  !  they  perfectly  froze 
her  heart  with  their  dreary  talk  about  religion.  Horace,  I  think 
the  most  irreligious  thing  in  the  world  is  that  way  of  talking, 
which  takes  away  our  Heavenly  Father,  and  gives  only  a  dread- 
ful Judge.  I  should  not  be  so  happy  and  so  safe  as  I  am  now, 
if  I  did  not  believe  in  a  loving  God." 

"  Tina,"  said  I,  "  are  you  satisfied  with  the  religious  principles 
of  Mr.  Davenport  ?  " 

"  I  'm  glad  you  asked  me  that,  Horace,  because  Mr.  Davenport 
is  a  man  that  is  very  apt  to  be  misunderstood.  Nobody  really 
does  understand  him  but  me.  He  has  seen  so  much  of  cant,  and 
hypocrisy,  and  pretence  of  religion,  and  is  so  afraid  of  pretensions 
that  do  not  mean  anything,  that  I  think  he  goes  to  the  other 
extreme.  Indeed,  I  have  told  him  so.  But  he  says  he  is  always 
delighted  to  hear  me  talk  on  religion,  and  he  likes  to  have  me 
repeat  hymns  to  him;  and  he  told  me  the  other  day  that  he 
thought  the  Bible  contained  finer  strains  of  poetry  and  eloquence 
than  could  be  got  from  all  other  books  put  together.  Then  he 
has  such  a  wonderful  mind,  you  know.  Mr.  Avery  said  that  he 
never  saw  a  person  that  appreciated  all  the  distinctions  of  the 
doctrines  more  completely  than  he  did.  He  does  n't  quite  agree 
with  Mr.  Avery,  nor  with  anybody ;  but  I  think  he  is  very  far 
from  being  an  irreligious  man.  I  believe  he  thinks  very  serious- 
ly on  all  these  subjects,  indeed." 

("  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  I,  half  convinced  by  her  fervor,  more 
than  half  by  the  magic  of  her  presence,  and  the  touch  of  the 


WEDDING  BELLS.  563 

golden  curls  that  the  wind  blew  against  my  cheek,  —  true  Vene- 
tian curls,  brown  in  the  shade  and  gold  in  the  sun.  Certainly, 
such  things  as  these,  if  not  argument,  incline  man  to  be  convinced 
of  whatever  a  fair  preacher  says ;  and  I  thought  it  not  unlikely 
that  Ellery  Davenport  liked  to  hear  her  talk  about  religion. 
The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  breakfast-bell,  which 
rung  us  in  to  an  early  meal,  where  we  found  Miss  Debby,  brisk 
and  crisp  with  business  and  authority,  apologizing  to  Lady 
Widgery  for  the  unusually  early  hour,  "  but,  really,  so  much 
always  to  be  done  in  cases  like  these." 

Breakfast  was  hurried  over,  for  I  was  to  dress  myself,  and  go 
to  Mr.  Davenport's  house,  and  accompany  him,  as  groomsman, 
to  meet  Tina  and  Harry  at  the  church  door. 

I  remember  admiring  Ellery  Davenport,  as  I  met  him  this 
morning,  with  his  easy,  high-bred,  cordial  air,  and  with  that  over- 
flow of  general  benevolence  which  seems  to  fill  the  hearts  of 
happy  bridegrooms  on  the  way  to  the  altar.  Jealous  as  I  was 
of  the  love  that  ought  to  be  given  to  the  idol  of  my  knight- 
errantry,  I  could  not  but  own  to  myself  that  Ellery  Davenport 
was  most  loyally  in  love. 

Then  I  have  a  vision  of  the  old  North  Church,  with  its  chimes 
playing,  and  the  pews  around  the  broad  aisle  filled  with  expec- 
tant guests.  The  wedding  had  excited  a  great  deal  of  attention 
in  the  upper  circles  of  Boston.  Ellery  Davenport  was  widely 
known,  having  been  a  sort  of  fashionable  meteor,  appearing  at 
intervals  in  the  select  circles  of  the  city,  with  all  the  prestige  of 
foreign  travel  and  diplomatic  reputation.  Then  the  little  ro- 
mance of  the  children  had  got  about,  and  had  proved  as  sweet 
a  morsel  under  the  tongues  of  good  Bostonians  as  such  spices 
in  the  dulness  of  real  life  usually  do.  There  was  talk  every- 
where of  the  little  story,  and,  as  usual,  nothing  was  lost  in  the 
telling ;  the  beauty  and  cleverness  of  the  children  had  been  re- 
ported from  mouth  to  mouth,  until  everybody  was  on  tiptoe  to 
see  them. 

The  Oldtown  people,  who  were  used  to  rising  at  daybreak, 
found  no  difficulty  in  getting  to  Boston  in  season.  Uncle  Fli- 
akim's  almost  exhausted  wagon  had  been  diligently  revamped, 


564  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

and  his  harness  assiduously  mended,  for  days  beforehand,  during 
which  process  the  good  man  might  have  been  seen  flying  like  a 
meteor  in  an  unceasing  round,  between  the  store,  the  black- 
smith's shop,  my  grandfather's,  and  his  own  dwelling ;  and  in 
consequence  of  these  arduous  labors,  not  only  his  wife,  but  Aunt 
Keziah  and  Hepsy  Lawson  were  secured  a  free  passage  to  the 
entertainment. 

Lady  Lothrop  considerately  offered  a  seat  to  my  grandmother 
and  Aunt  Lois  in  her  coach ;  but  my  grandmother  declined  the 
honor  in  favor  of  my  mother. 

"  It 's  all  very  well,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  and  I  send  my 
blessing  on  'em  with  all  my  heart ;  but  my  old  husband  and  I  are 
too  far  along  to  be  rattling  our  old  bones  to  weddings  in  Boston. 
I  should  n't  know  how  to  behave  in  their  grand  Episcopal  church." 

Aunt  Lois,  who,  like  many  other  good  women,  had  an  innocent 
love  of  the  pomps  and  vanities,  and  my  mother,  to  whom  the 
scene  was  an  unheard-of  recreation,  were,  on  the  whole,  not  dis- 
pleased that  her  mind  had  taken  this  turn.  As  to  Sam  Lawson, 
he  arose  before  Aurora  had  unbarred  the  gates  of  dawn,  and 
strode  off  vigorously  on  foot,  in  his  best  Sunday  clothes,  and 
arrived  there  in  time  to  welcome  Uncle  Fliakim's  wagon,  and 
to  tell  him  that  "  he  'd  ben  a  lookin'  out  for  'em  these  two 
hours." 

So  then  for  as  much  as  half  an  hour  before  the  wedding 
coaches  arrived  at  the  church  door  there  was  a  goodly  assem- 
blage in  the  church,  and,  while  the  chimes  were  solemnly 
pealing  the  tune  of  old  Wells,  there  were  bibbing  and  bobbing  of 
fashionable  bonnets,  and  fluttering  of  fans,  and  rustling  of  silks, 
and  subdued  creakings  of  whalebone  stays,  and  a  gentle  under- 
tone of  gossiping  conversation  in  the  expectant  audience.  Sam 
Lawson  had  mounted  the  organ  loft,  directly  opposite  the  altar, 
which  commanded  a  most  distinct  view  of  every  possible  transac- 
tion below,  and  also  gave  a  prominent  image  of  himself,  with  his 
lanky  jaws,  protruding  eyes,  and  shackling  figure,  posed  over  all 
as  the  inspecting  genius  of  the  scene.  And  every  once  in  a 
while  he  conveyed  to  Jake  Marshall  pieces  of  intelligence  with 
regard  to  the  amount  of  property  or  private  history — the  horses, 


WEDDING  BELLS.  565 

carriages,  servants,  and  most  secret  internal  belongings  —  of  the 
innocent  Bostonians,  who  were  disporting  themselves  below,  in 
utter  ignorance  of  how  much  was  known  about  them.  But  when 
a  man  gives  himself  seriously,  for  years,  to  the  task  of  collecting 
information,  thinking  nothing  of  long  tramps  of  twenty  miles  in 
the  acquisition,  never  hesitating  to  put  a  question  and  never  for- 
getting an  answer,  it  is  astonishing  what  an  amount  of  information 
he  may  pick  up.  In  Sam,  a  valuable  reporter  of  the  press  has 
been  lost  forever.  He  was  born  a  generation  too  soon,  and  the 
civilization  of  his  time  had  not  yet  made  a  place  for  him.  But 
not  the  less  did  he  at  this  moment  feel  in  himself  all  the  respon- 
sibilities of  a  special  reporter  for  Oldtown. 

"  Lordy  massy,"  he  said  to  Jake,  when  the  chimes  began  to 
play,  "  how  solemn  that  'ere  does  sound ! 

'  Life  is  the  time  to  sarve  the  Lord, 
The  time  to  insure  the  gret  reward.' 

I  ben  up  in  the  belfry  askin'  the  ringer  what  Mr.  Devenport  's 
goin'  to  give  him  for  ringin'  them  'ere  chimes  ;  and  how  much  de 
ye  think  't  was  ?  Wai,  't  was  jest  fifty  dollars,  for  jest  this  'ere 
one  time !  an'  the  weddin'  fee  's  a  goin'  t'  be  a  hunderd  guineas 
in  a  gold  puss.  I  tell  yer,  Colonel  Devenport  's  a  man  as  chops 
his  mince  putty  fine.  There  's  Parson  Lothrop  down  there  ;  he  's 
got  a  spick  span  new  coat  an'  a  new  wig  !  That 's  Mis'  Lothrop's 
scarlet  Injy  shawl ;  that  'ere  cost  a  hunderd  guineas  in  Injy,  — 
her  first  husband  gin  'er  that.  Lordy  massy,  ain't  it  a  providence 
that  Parson  Lothrop  's  married  her  ?  'cause  sence  the  war  that  'ere 
s'ciety  fur  sendin'  the  Gospil  to  furrin  parts  don't  send  nothin'  to 
'em,  an'  the  Oldtown  people  they  don't  pay  nothin'.  All  they  can 
raise  they  gin  to  Mr.  Mordecai  Rossiter,  'cause  they  say  ef  they 
hev  to  s'port  a  colleague  it 's  all  they  can  do,  'specially  sence 
he  's  married.  Yeh  see,  Mordecai,  he  wanted  to  git  Tiny,  but  he 
could  n't  come  it,  and  so  he  's  tuk  up  with  Delily  Barker.  The 
folks,  some  on  'em,  kind  o'  hinted  to  old  Parson  Lothrop  thet  his 
sermons  wasn't  so  interestin'  's  they  might  be,  V  the  parson,  ses 
he, '  Wai,  I  b'lieve  the  sermons  's  about 's  good  's  the  pay  ;  ain't 
they  ? '  He  hed  'em  there.  I  like  Parson  Lothrop,  —  he  's  a 
fine  old  figger-head,  and  keeps  up  stiff  for  th'  honor  o'  the  minis- 


566  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

try.  Why,  folks  's  gittin'  so  nowadays  thet  ministers  won't  be  no 
more  'n  common  folks,  'n'  everybody  '11  hev  their  say  to  'em  jest 
's  they  do  to  anybody  else.  Lordy  massy,  there  's  the  orgin,  — 
goin'  to  hev  all  the  glories,  orgins  'n'  bells  'n'  everythin' ;  guess 
the  procession  must  ha'  started.  Mr.  Devenport  's  got  another 
spick  an'  span  new  landau,  't  he  ordered  over  from  England, 
special,  for  this  'casion,  an'  two  prancin'  white  hosses  !  Yeh 
see  I  got  inter  Bostin  'bout  daybreak,  an'  I 's  around  ter  his 
stables  a  lookin'  at  'em  a  polishin'  up  their  huffs  a  little,  'n'  givin' 
on  'em  a  wipe  down,  'n'  I  asked  Jenkins  what  he  thought  he  gin 
for  'em,  an'  he  sed  he  reely  should  n't  durst  to  tell  me.  I  tell  ye, 
he 's  like  Solomon, —  he  's  a  goin'  to  make  gold  as  the  stones  o' 
the  street." 

And  while  Sam's  monologue  was  going  on,  in  came  the  bridal 
procession,  —  first,  Harry,  with  his  golden  head  and  blue  eyes, 
and,  leaning  on  his  arm,  a  cloud  of  ethereal  gauzes  and  laces, 
out  of  which  looked  a  face,  pale  now  as  a  lily,  with  wandering 
curls  of  golden  hair  like  little  gleams  of  sunlight  on  white  clouds; 
then  the  tall,  splendid  figure  of  Ellery  Davenport,  his  haughty 
blue  eyes  glancing  all  around  with  a  triumphant  assurance. 
Miss  Mehitable  hung  upon  his  arm,  pale  with  excitement  and 
emotion.  Then  came  Esther  and  I.  As  we  passed  up  the  aisle, 
I  heard  a  confused  murmur  of  whisperings  and  a  subdued  drawing 
in  of  breath,  and  the  rest  all  seemed  to  me  to  be  done  in  a  dream. 
I  heard  the  words,  "  Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to 
this  man  ?  "  and  saw  Harry  step  forth,  bold,  and  bright,  and  hand- 
some, amid  the  whisperings  that  pointed  him  out  as  the  hero  of  a 
little  romance.  And  he  gave  her  away  forever,  —  our  darling, 
our  heart  of  hearts.  And  then  those  holy,  tender  words,  those 
vows  so  awful,  those  supporting  prayers,  all  mingled  as  in  a 
dream,  until  it  was  all  over,  and  ladies,  laughing  and  crying, 
were  crowding  around  Tina,  and  there  were  kissing  and  con- 
gratulating and  shaking  of  hands,  and  then  we  swept  out  of  the 
church,  and  into  the  carriages,  and  were  whirled  back  to  the 
Kittery  mansion,  which  was  thrown  wide  open,  from  garret  to 
cellar,  in  the  very  profuseness  of  old  English  hospitality. 

There  was  a  splendid  lunch  laid  out  in  the  parlor,  with  all 


WEDDING  BELLS.  567 

the  old  silver  in  muster,  and  with  all  the  delicacies  that  Boston 
confectioners  and  caterers  could  furnish. 

Ellery  Davenport  had  indeed  tendered  the  services  of  hia 
French  cook,  but  Miss  Debby  had  respectfully  declined  the 
offer. 

"  He  may  be  a  very  good  cook,  Ellery  ;  I  say  nothing  against 
him.  I  am  extremely  obliged  to  you  for  your  polite  offer,  but 
good  English  cooking  is  good  enough  for  me,  and  I  trust  that 
whatever  guests  I  invite  will  always  think  it  good  enough  for 
them." 

On  that  day,  Aunt  Lois  and  Aunt  Keziah  and  my  mother  and 
Uncle  Fliakim  sat  down  in  proximity  to  some  of  the  very  selectest 
families  of  Boston,  comporting  themselves,  like  good  republican 
Yankees,  as  if  they  had  been  accustomed  to  that  sort  of  thing  all 
their  lives,  though  secretly  embarrassed  by  many  little  points  of 
etiquette. 

Tina  and  Ellery  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  dispensed 
hospitalities  around  them  with  a  gay  and  gracious  freedom ;  and 
Harry,  in  whom  the  bridal  dress  of  Esther  had  evidently  excited 
distracting  visions  of  future  probabilities,  was  making  his  seat 
by  her  at  dinner  an  opportunity,  in  the  general  clatter  of  con- 
versation, to  enjoy  a  nice  little  tete-a-tete. 

Besides  the  brilliant  company  in  the  parlor,  a  long  table  was 
laid  out  upon  the  greensward  at  the  back  of  the  house,  in  the 
garden,  where  beer  and  ale  flowed  freely,  and  ham  and  bread 
and  cheese  and  cake  and  eatables  of  a  solid  and  sustaining  de- 
scription were  dispensed  to  whomsoever  would.  The  humble 
friends  of  lower  degree  —  the  particular  friends  of  the  servants, 
and  all  the  numerous  tribe  of  dependants  and  hangers-on,  who 
wished  to  have  some  small  share  in  the  prosperity  of  the  prosper- 
ous—  here  found  ample  entertainment.  Here  Sam  Lawson 
might  be  seen,  seated  beside  Hepsy,  on  a  garden-seat  near  the 
festive  board,  gallantly  pressing  upon  her  the  good  things  of 
the  hour. 

"  Eat  all  ye  want  ter,  Hepsy,  —  it  comes  free  's  water ;  ye  can 
hev  "'  wine  an'  milk  without  money  'n'  without  price,'  as  't  were. 
Lordy  massy,  's  jest  what  I  wanted.  I  hed  sech  a  stram  this 


568  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

mornin',  'n'  hain't  bed  nothin'  but  a  two-cent  roll,  't  I  bought 't 
the  baker's.  Thought  I  should  ha'  caved  in  'fore  they  got  through 
with  the  weddin'.  These  'ere  'Piscopal  weddin's  is  putty  long. 
What  d'  ye  think  on  'em,  Polly  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  like  our  own  way  the  best,"  said  Polly,  stanchly, 
"  none  o'  your  folderol,  'n'  kneelin',  'n'  puttin'  on  o'  rings." 

"  Well,"  said  Hepsy,  with  the  spice  of  a  pepper-box  in  her 
eyes,  "  I  liked  the  part  that  said,  *  With  all  my  worldly  goods,  I 
thee  endow.' " 

"  Thet  's  putty  well,  when  a  man  lies  any  worldly  goods,"  said 
Sam ;  "  but  how  about  when  he  lies  n't  ?  " 

"  Then  he  's  no  business  to  git  married !  "  said  Hepsy,  def- 
initely. 

"  So  /think,"  said  Polly;  "  but,  for  my  part,  I  don't  want  no 
man's  worldly  goods,  ef  I  've  got  to  take  him  with  'em.  I  'd 
rather  work  hard  as  I  have  done,  and  hev  'em  all  to  myself,  to 
do  just  what  I  please  with." 

"  Wai,  Polly,"  said  Sam,  "  I  dare  say  the  men  's  jest  o'  your 
mind,  —  none  on  'em  won't  try  very  hard  to  git  ye'  out  on  't." 

"  There  's  bin  those  thet  hes,  though ! "  said  Polly ;  "  but 't  ain't 
wuth  talkin'  about,  any  way." 

And  so  conversation  below  stairs  and  above  proceeded  gayly 
and  briskly,  until  at  last  the  parting  hour  came. 

"  Now  jest  all  on  ye  step  round  ter  the  front  door,  an'  see 
'em  go  off  in  their  glory.  Them  two  white  bosses  is  imported 
fresh  from  England,  'n'  they  could  n't  ha'  cost  less  'n'  a  thousan' 
dollars  apiece,  ef  they  cost  a  cent." 

"  A  thousand !  "  said  Jenkins,  the  groom,  who  stood  in  his  best 
clothes  amid  the  festive  throng.  "  Who  told  you  that  ?  " 

"  Wai !  "  said  Sara,  "  I  thought  I  'd  put  the  figger  low  enough, 
sence  ye  would  n't  tell  me  perticklers.  I  like  to  be  accurate 
'bout  these  'ere  things.  There  they  be  !  they  're  comin'  out  the 
door  now.  She  's  tuk  off  her  white  dress  now,  an'  got  on  her 
travellin'  dress,  don't  ye  see  ?  Lordy  massy,  what  a  kissin'  an'  a 
cryin' !  How  women  tillers  does  go  on  'bout  these  'ere  things  ! 
There,  he 's  got  'er  at  last.  See  'em  goin'  down  the  steps  !  ain't 
they  a  han'some  couple  !  There,  he  's  handin'  on  'er  in.  The 


WEDDING  BELLS.  569 

kerrige  's  lined  with  blue  satin,  V  never  was  sot  in  afore  this 
mornin'.     Good  luck  go  with  'em !    There  they  go." 

And  we  all  of  us  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  Kittery  mansion, 
kissing  hands  and  waving  handkerchiefs,  until  the  beloved  one, 
the  darling  of  our  hearts,  was  out  of  sight. 


570  OLDTQWN  FOLKS. 

CHAPTER    XLVI. 

WEDDING   AFTER-TALKS    AT    OLDTOWN. 

WEDDING  joys  are  commonly  supposed  to  pertain  espe- 
cially to  the  two  principal  personages,  and  to  be  of  a  kind 
with  which  the  world  cloth  not  intermeddle ;  but  a  wedding  in 
such  a  quiet  and  monotonous  state  of  existence  as  that  of  Old- 
town  is  like  a  glorious  sunset,  which  leaves  a  long  after-glow,  in 
which  trees  and  rocks,  farm-houses,  and  all  the  dull,  common- 
place landscape  of  real  life  have,  for  a  while,  a  roseate  hue  of 
brightness.  And  then  the  long  after-talks,  the  deliberate  turn- 
ings and  revampings,  and  the  re-enjoying,  bit  by  bit,  of  every 
incident ! 

Sam  Lawson  was  a  man  who  knew  how  to  make  the  most  of 
this,  and  for  a  week  or  two  he  reigned  triumphant  in  Oldtown  on 
the  strength  of  it.  Others  could  relate  the  bare,  simple  facts,  but 
Sam  Lawson  could  give  the  wedding,  with  variations,  with  mar- 
ginal references,  and  explanatory  notes,  arid  enlightening  com- 
ments, that  ran  deep  into  the  history  of  everybody  present.  So 
that  even  those  who  had  been  at  the  wedding  did  not  know  half 
what  they  had  seen  until  Sam  told  them. 

It  was  now  the  second  evening  after  that  auspicious  event. 
Aunt  Lois  and  my  mother  had  been  pressed  to  prolong  their  stay 
over  one  night  after  the  wedding,  to  share  the  hospitalities  of  the 
Kittery  mansion,  and  had  been  taken  around  in  the  Kittery  car- 
riage to  see  the  wonders  of  Boston  town.  But  prompt,  on  their 
return,  Sam  came  in  to  assist  them  in  dishing  up  information  by 
the  evening  fireside. 

"  Wai,  Mis'  Badger,"  said  he,  "  't  was  gin'ally  agreed,  on  all 
hands,  there  had  n't  ben  no  weddin'  like  it  seen  in  Boston  sence 
the  time  them  court  folks  and  nobility  used  to  be  there.  Old 
Luke  there,  that  rings  the  chimes,  he  told  me  he  hed  n't  seen  no 
sech  couple  go  up  the  broad  aisle  o'  that  church.  Luke,  says  he 


WEDDING  AFTER-TALKS   AT   OLDTOWN.  571 

to  me,  'I  tell  yew,  the  grander  o'  Boston  is  here  to-day,'  and 
ye  'd  better  b'lieve  every  one  on  'em  had  on  their  Sunday  best. 
There  was  the  Boylstons,  an'  the  Bowdoins,  an'  the  Brattles,  an' 
the  Winthrops,  an'  the  Bradfords,  an'  the  Penhallows  up  from 
Portsmouth,  an'  the  Quinceys,  an'  the  Sewells.  Wai,  I  tell  yer, 
there  was  real  grit  there !  —  folks  that  come  in  their  grand  ker- 
ridges  I  tell  you !  —  there  was  such  a  pawin'  and  a  stampin'  o' 
horses  and  kerridges  round  the  church  as  if  all  the  army  of  the 
Assyrians  was  there  !  " 

"  Well,  now,  I  'm  glad  I  did  n't  go,"  said  my  grandmother. 
"I  'm  too  old  to  go  into  any  such  grandeur." 

"  Wai,  I  don't  see  why  folks  lies  so  much  'ejections  to  these 
here  'Piscopai  weddin's,  neither,"  said  Sam.  "  I  tell  yer,  it 's  a 
kind  o'  putty  sight  now ;  ye  see  I  was  up  in  the  organ  loft,  where 
I  could  look  down  on  the  heads  of  all  the  people.  Massy  to 
us !  the  bunnets,  an'  the  feathers,  an'  the  Injy  shawls,  an'  the  pur- 
ple an'  fine  linen,  was  all  out  on  the  'casion.  An'  when  our  Har- 
ry come  in  with  Tiny  on  his  arm,  tha'  was  a  gineral  kind  o'  buzz, 
an'  folks  a  risin'  up  all  over  the  house  to  look  at  'em.  Her  dress 
was  yer  real  Injy  satin,  thick  an'  yaller,  kind  o'  like  cream.  An' 
she  had  on  the  Pierpont  pearls  an'  diamonds  —  " 

"  How  did  you  know  what  she  had  on  ?  "  said  Aunt  Lois. 

"  O,  I  hes  ways  o'  findin'  out ! "  said  Sam.  "  Yeh  know  old 
Gineral  Pierpont,  his  gret-gret-grandfather,  was  a  gineral  in  the 
British  army  in  Injy,  an'  he  racketed  round  'mong  them  nabobs 
out  there,  an'  got  no  end  o'  gold  an'  precious  stones,  an'  these  'ere 
pearls  an'  diamonds  that  she  wore  on  her  neck  and  in  her  ears 
hes  come  down  in  the  Devenport  family.  Mis'  Delily,  Miss 
Deborah  Kittery's  maid,  she  told  me  all  the  partic'lars  'bout  it,  an' 
she  ses  there  ain't  no  family  so  rich  in  silver  and  jewels,  and  sich, 
as  Ellery  Devenport's  is,  an'  hes  ben  for  generations  back.  His 
house  is  jest  chock-full  of  all  sorts  o'  graven  images  and  queer 
things  from  Chiny  an'  Japan,  'cause,  ye  see,  his  ancestors  they 
traded  to  Injy,  an'  they  seem  to  hev  got  the  abundance  o'  the 
Gentiles  flowin'  to  'em." 

"  I  noticed  those  pearls  on  her  neck,"  said  Aunt  Lois ;  "  I 
never  saw  such  pearls," 


572  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

"  Wai,"  said  Sam,  "  Mis'  Delily,  she  ses  she 's  tried  'em  'long- 
side  of  a  good-sized  pea,  an'  they  're  full  as  big.  An'  the  ear- 
rings 's  them  pear-shaped  pearls,  ye  know,  with  diamond  nubs 
atop  on  'em.  Then  there  was  a  great  pearl  cross,  an'  the  biggest 
kind  of  a  diamond  right  in  the  middle  on 't.  Wai,  Mis'  Delily 
she  told  me  a  story  'bout  them  'ere  pearls,"  said  Sam.  "  For  my 
part,  ef  it  hed  ben  a  daughter  o'  mine,  I  'd  rutlier  she  'd  'a'  worn 
suthin'  on  her  neck  that  was  spic  an'  span  new.  I  tell  yew,  these 
'ere  old  family  jewels,  I  think  sometimes  they  gits  kind  o'  struck 
through  an'  through  with  moth  an'  rust,  so  to  speak." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Sam,"  said  Aunt  Lois, 
literally,  "  since  we  know  gold  can't  rust,  and  pearls  and  diamonds 
don't  hurt  with  any  amount  of  keeping." 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  they  do  say  that  'ere  old  Gineral  Pierpont  was  a 
putty  hard  customer ;  he  got  them  'ere  pearls  an'  diamonds  away 
from  an  Injun  princess;  I  s'pose  she  thought  she  'd  as  much 
right  to  'em  's  he  hed ;  an'  they  say  't  was  about  all  she  hed  was 
her  jewels,  an'  so  nat'rally  enough  she  cussed  him  for  taking 
on  'em.  Wai,  dunno  's  the  Lord  minds  the  cusses  o'  these  poor  old 
heathen  critturs ;  but 's  ben  a  fact,  Mis'  Delily  says,  thet  them 
jewels  hain't  never  brought  good  luck.  Gineral  Pierpont,  he  gin 
'em  to  his  fust  wife,  an'  she  did  n't  live  but  two  months  arter  she 
was  married.  He  gin  'em  to  his  second  wife,  'n'  she  tuck  to  drink 
and  le'd  him  sech  a  life  't  he  would  n't  ha'  cared  ef  she  had  died 
too ;  'n'  then  they  come  down  to  Ellery  Devenport's  first  wife,  'n* 
she  went  ravin'  crazy  the  fust  year  arter  she  was  married.  Now- 
all  that  'ere  does  look  a  little  like  a  cuss ;  don't  it  ?  " 

"  O  nonsense,  Sam ! "  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  I  don't  believe  there  'B 
a  word  of  truth  in  any  of  it !  You  can  hatch  more  stories  in  one 
day  than  a  hen  can  eggs  in  a  month." 

"Wai,  any  way,"  said  Sam,  "I  like  the  'Piscopal  sarvice,  all 
'ceppin'  the  minister's  wearin'  his  shirt  outside ;  that  I  don't  like." 

"  'T  is  n't  a  shirt ! "  said  Aunt  Lois,  indignantly. 

"  O  lordy  massy ! "  said  Sam,  "  I  know  what  they  calls  it.  I 
know  it 's  a  surplice,  but  it  looks  for  all  the  world  like  a  man  in 
his  shirt-sleeves ;  but  the  words  is  real  solemn.  I  wondered  when 
lie  asked  'em  all  whether  they  hed  any  objections  to 't,  an'  told  'em 


WEDDING  AFTER-TALKS  AT  OLDTOWN.  573 

to  speak  up  ef  they  lied,  what  would  happen  ef  anybody  should 
speak  up  jest  there." 

"  Why,  of  course  't  would  stop  the  wedding,"  said  Aunt  Lois, 
"  until  the  thing  was  inquired  into." 

"Wai,  Jake  Marshall,  he  said  thet  he  'd  heerd  a  story  when  he 
was  a  boy,  about  a  weddin'  in  a  church  at  Portsmouth,  that  was 
stopped  jest  there,  'cause,  ye  see,  the  man  he  hed  another  wife 
livin.'  He  said  't  was  old  Colonel  Penhallow.  'Mazin'  rich  the 
old  Colonel  was,  and  these  'ere  rich  old  cocks  sometimes  does 
seem  to  strut  round  and  cut  up  pretty  much  as  if  they  hed  n't 
heard  o'  no  God  in  their  parts.  The  Colonel  he  got  his  wife 
shet  up  in  a  lunatic  asylum,  an'  then  spread  the  word  that  she 
was  dead,  an'  courted  a  gal,  and  come  jest  as  near  as  that  to 
marryin'  of  her." 

"  As  near  as  what  ?  "  said  Aunt  Lois. 

"  Why,  when  they  got  to  that  'ere  part  of  the  service,  there 
was  his  wife,  good  as  new.  She  'd  got  out  o'  the  'sylum,  and 
stood  up  there  'fore  'em  all.  So  you  see  that  'ere  does  some 
good." 

"  I  'd  rather  stay  in  an  asylum  all  my  life  than  go  back  to  that 
man,"  said  Aunt  Lois. 

"  Wai,  you  see  she  did  n't,"  said  Sam ;  "  her  friends  they  made 
him  make  a  settlement  on  her,  poor  woman,  and  he  cleared  out  t' 
England." 

"  Good  riddance  to  bad  rubbish,"  said  my  grandmother. 

"  Wai,  how  handsome  that  'ere  gal  is  that  Harry  's  going  to 
marry ! "  continued  Sam.  "  She  did  n't  have  on  nothin'  but  white 
muslin',  an'  not  a  snip  of  a  jewel ;  but  she  looked  like  a  queen. 
Ses  I  to  Jake,  ses  I,  there  goes  the  woman  't  '11  be  Lady  Per- 
cival  one  o'  these  days,  over  in  England,  an'  I  bet  ye,  he  '11  find 
lots  o'  family  jewels  for  her,  over  there.  Mis'  Delily  she  said 
she  did  n't  doubt  there  would  be." 

"  I  hope,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  that  she  will  have  more 
enduring  riches  than  that;  it  's  small  matter  about  earthly 
jewels." 

"Lordy  massy,  yes,  Mis'  Badger,"  said  Sam,  "jes'  so,  jes' 
so ;  now  that  'ere  was  bein'  impressed  on  my  mind  all  the  time. 


574  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Folks  oughtenter  lay  up  their  treasures  on  airth ;  I  could  n't 
help  thinkin'  on  't,  when  I  see  Tiny  a  wearin'  them  jewels,  jest 
how  vain  an'  transitory  everythin'  is,  an'  how  the  women  't  has 
worn  'em  afore  is  all  turned  to  dust,  an'  lyin'  in  their  graves. 
Lordy  massy,  these  'ere  things  make  us  realize  what  a  transitory 
world  we  's  a  liviir  in.  I  was  tellin'  Hepsy  'bout  it,  —  she  's  so 
kind  o'  worldly,  Hepsy  is,  —  seemed  to  make  her  feel  so  kind  o' 
gritty  to  see  so  much  wealth  'n'  splendor,  when  we  lied  n't  none. 
Ses  I,  '  Hepsy,  there  ain't  no  use  o'  wantin'  worldly  riches,  'cause 
our  lives  all  passes  away  like  a  dream,  an'  a  hundred  years  hence 
't  won't  make  no  sort  o'  diffurnce  what  we  've  hed,  an'  what  we 
heve  n't  hed.'  But  wal,  Miss  Lois,  did  ye  see  the  kerridge  ? " 
said  Sam,  returning  to  temporal  things  with  renewed  animation. 

"  I  just  got  a  glimpse  of  it,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  as  it  drove  to  the 
door." 

"  Lordy  massy,"  said  Sam,  "  I  was  all  over  that  'ere  kerridge 
that  mornin'  by  daylight.  'T  ain't  the  one  he  had  up  here,  —  that 
was  jest  common  doin's,  —  this  'ere  is  imported  spic  an'  span  new 
from  England  for  the  'casion,  an'  all  made  jest  's  they  make  'em 
for  the  nobility.  Why,  't  was  all  quilted  an'  lined  with  blue 
satin,  ever  so  grand,  an'  Turkey  carpet  under  their  feet,  an'  the 
springs  was  easy  's  a  rockin'-chair.  That 's  what  they  've  gone 
oiF  in.  Wal,  lordy  massy !  I  don't  grudge  Tina  nothin' !  She  's 
the  chipperest,  light-heartedest,  darlin'est  little  creetur  that  ever 
did  live,  an'  I  hope  she  '11  hev  good  luck  in  all  things." 

A  rap  was  heard  at  the  kitchen  door,  and  Polly  entered.  It 
was  evident  from  her  appearance  that  she  was  in  a  state  of  con- 
siderable agitation.  She  looked  pale  and  excited,  and  her  hands 
shook. 

"  Mis'  Badger,"  she  said  to  my  grandmother,  "  Miss  Eossiter 
wants  to  know  'f  you  won't  come  an'  set  up  with  her  to-night." 

"  Why,  is  she  sick  ?  "  said  grandmother.  "  What 's  the  matter 
with  her?" 

"  She  ain't  very  well,"  said  Polly,  evasively ;  "  she  wanted 
Mis'  Badger  to  spend  the  night  with  her." 

"  Perhaps,  mother,  I  'd  better  go  over,"  said  Aunt  Lois. 

"  No,  Miss  Lois,"  said  Polly,  eagerly,  "  Miss  Rossiter  don't 
wanter  see  anybody  but  yer  mother." 


WEDDDsG  AFTER-TALKS  AT   OLDTOWN.  575 

"  Wai,  now  I  wanter  know  !  "  said  Sam  Lawson. 

"  Well,  you  can't  know  everything,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  so  you 
may  want ! " 

'*  Tell  Miss  Rossiter,  ef  I  can  do  anythin'  for  'er,  I  Lope  she  '11 
call  on  me,"  said  Sam. 

My  grandmother  and  Polly  went  out  together.  Aunt  Lois 
bustled  about  the  hearth,  swept  it  up,  and  then  looked  out  into  the 
darkness  after  them.  What  could  it  be  ? 

The  old  clock  ticked  drowsily  in  the  kitchen  corner,  and  her 
knitting-needles  rattled. 

"  What  do  you  think  it  is  ?  "  said  my  mother,  timidly,  to  Aunt 
Lois. 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  "  said  Aunt  Lois,  sharply. 

In  a  few  moments  Polly  returned  again. 

"  Miss  Mehitable  says  she  would  like  to  see  Sam  Lawson." 

"  O,  wal,  wal,  would  she  ?  Wai,  I  '11  come ! "  said  Sam, 
rising  with  joyful  alertness.  "  I  'm  allers  ready  at  a  minute's 
warn  in' ! " 

And  they  went  out  into  the  darkness  together. 


576  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

CHAPTER    XLVII. 

BEHIND    THE    CURTAIN. 

IN  the  creed  of  most  story-tellers  marriage  is  equal  to  transla- 
tion. The  mortal  pair  whose  fortunes  are  traced  to  the  foot 
of  the  altar  forthwith  ascend,  and  a  cloud  receives  them  out  of 
our  sight  as  the  curtain  falls.  Faith  supposes  them  rapt  away  to 
some  unseen  paradise,  and  every-day  toil  girds  up  its  loins  and 
with  a  sigh  prepares  to  return  to  its  delving  and  grubbing. 

But  our  story  must  follow  the  fortunes  of  our  heroine  beyond 
the  prescribed  limits. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  the  wedding  pair,  after  a  sunny  af- 
ternoon's drive  through  some  of  the  most  picturesque  scenery  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Boston,  should  return  at  eventide  to  their 
country  home,  where  they  were  to  spend  a  short  time  preparatory 
to  sailing  for  Europe.  Even  in  those  early  days  the  rocky  glo- 
ries of  Nahant  and  its  dashing  waves  were  known  and  resorted 
to  by  Bostonians,  and  the  first  part  of  the  drive  was  thitherward, 
and  Tina  climbed  round  among  the  rocks,  exulting  like  a  sea-bird 
with  Ellery  Davenport  ever  at  her  side,  laughing,  admiring,  but 
holding  back  her  bold,  excited  footsteps,  lest  she  should  plunge 
over  by  some  unguarded  movement,  and  become  a  vanished 
dream. 

So  near  lies  the  ever  possible  tragedy  at  the  hour  of  our  great- 
est exultation ;  it  is  but  a  false  step,  an  inadvertent  movement, 
and  all  that  was  joy  can  become  a  cruel  mockery !  We  all 
know  this  to  be  so.  We  sometimes  start  and  shriek  when  we 
see  it  to  be  so  in  the  case  of  others,  but  who  is  the  less  trium- 
phant in  his  hour  of  possession  for  this  gloomy  shadow  of  possi- 
bility that  forever  dogs  his  steps  ? 

Ellery  Davenport  was  now  in  the  high  tide  of  victory.  The 
pursuit  of  the  hour  was  a  success  ;  he  had  captured  the  butterfly. 
In  his  eagerness  he  had  trodden  down  and  disregarded  many  teach- 


BEHIND   THE   CURTAIN.  577 

ings  and  impulses  of  his  better  nature  that  should  have  made 
him  hesitate ;  but  now  he  felt  that  he  had  her ;  she  was  his,  —  his 
alone  and  forever. 

But  already  dark  thoughts  from  the  past  were  beginning  to 
flutter  out  like  ill-omened  bats,  and  dip  down  on  gloomy  wing  be- 
tween him  and  the  innocent,  bright,  confiding  face.  Tina  he 
could  see  had  idealized  him  entirely.  She  had  invested  him 
with  all  her  conceptions  of  knighthood,  honor,  purity,  religion, 
and  made  a  creation  of  her  own  of  him ;  and  sometimes  he  smiled 
to  himself,  half  amused  and  half  annoyed  at  the  very  young  and 
innocent  simplicity  of  the  matter.  Nobody  knew  better  than  him- 
self that  what  she  dreamed  he  was  he  neither  was  nor  meant  to 
be,  — that  in  fact  there  could  not  be  a  bitterer  satire  on  his  real 
self  than  her  conceptions  ;  but  just  now,  with  her  brilliant  beauty, 
her  piquant  earnestness,  her  perfect  freshness,  there  was  an  in- 
describable charm  about  her  that  bewitched  him. 

Would  it  all  pass  away  and  get  down  to  the  jog-trot  dustiness 
of  ordinary  married  life,  he  wondered,  and  then,  ought  he  not 
to  have  been  a  little  more  fair  with  her  in  exchange  for  the 
perfect  transparence  with  which  she  threw  open  the  whole  of 
her  past  life  to  him  ?  Had  he  not  played  with  her  as  some  vil- 
lain might  with  a  little  child,  and  got  away  a  priceless  diamond 
for  a  bit  of  painted  glass  ?  He  did  not  allow  himself  to  think 
in  that  direction. 

"  Come,  my  little  sea-gull,"  he  said  to  her,  after  they  had  wan- 
dered and  rambled  over  the  rocks  for  a  while,  "  you  must  come 
down  from  that  perch,  and  we  must  drive  on,  if  we  mean  to  be  at 
home  before  midnight." 

"  O  Ellery,  how  glorious  it  is  ! " 

"  Yes,  but  we  cannot  build  here  three  tabernacles,  and  so  we 
must  say,  Au  revoir.  I  will  bring  you  here  again  "  ; —  and  Ellery 
half  led,  half  carried  her  in  his  arms  back  to  the  carriage. 

"  How  beautiful  it  is  ! "  said  Tina,  as  they  were  glancing  along 
a  turfy  road  through  the  woods.  The  white  pines  were  just  put- 
ting out  their  long  fingers,  the  new  leaves  of  the  silvery  birches 
were  twinkling  in  the  ligkt,  the  road  was  fringed  on  both  sides  with 
great  patches  of  the  blue  violet,  and  sweet-fern,  and  bayberry, 
25  KK 


578  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

and  growing  green  tips  of  young  spruce  and  fir  were  exhaling  a 
spicy  perfume.  "  It  seems  as  if  we  two  alone  were  flying 
through  fairy-laud."  His  arm  was  around  her,  tightening  its 
clasp  of  possession  as  he  looked  down  on  her. 

"  Yes,"  he  said, '"  we  two  are  alone  in  our  world  now ;  none 
can  enter  it ;  none  can  see  into  it ;  none  can  come  between  us." 

Suddenly  the  words  recalled  to  Tina  her  bad  dream  of  the 
night  before.  She  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  of  it,  but  hesi- 
tated to  introduce  it ;  she  felt  a  strange  shyness  in  mentioning 
that  subject. 

Ellery  Davenport  turned  the  conversation  upon  things  in  for- 
eign lands,  which  he  would  soon  show  her.  He  pictured  to  her 
the  bay  of  Naples,  the  rocks  of  Sorrento,  where  the  blue 
Mediterranean  is  overhung  Avith  groves  of  oranges,  where  they 
should  have  a  villa  some  day,  and  live  in  a  dream  of  beauty. 
All  things  fair  and  bright  and  beautiful  in  foreign  lands  were 
evoked,  and  made  to  come  as  a  sort  of  airy  pageant  around 
them  while  they  wound  through  the  still,  spicy  pine-woods. 

It  was  past  sunset,  and  the  moon  was  looking  white  and  sober 
through  the  flush  of  the  evening  sky,  when  they  entered  the 
grounds  of  their  own  future  home. 

"  How  different  everything  looks  here  from  what  it  did  when 
I  was  here  years  ago ! "  said  Tina,  —  "  the  paths  are  all  cleared,  and 
then  it  was  one  wild,  dripping  tangle.  I  remember  how  long  we 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  could  n't  make  any  one  hear,  and  the  old 
black  knocker  frightened  me,  —  it  was  a  black  serpent  with  his 
tail  in  his  mouth.  I  wonder  if  it  is  there  yet." 

"  O,  to  be  sure  it  is,"  said  Ellery  ;  "  that  is  quite  a  fine  bit  of 
old  bronze,  after  something  in  Herculaneum,  I  think  ;  you  know 
serpents  were  quite  in  vogue  among  the  ancients." 

"  I  should  think  that  symbol  meant  eternal  evil,"  said  Tina,  — 
"  a  circle  is  eternity,  and  a  serpent  is  evil." 

"  You  are  evidently  prejudiced  against  serpents,  my  love," 
said  Ellery.  "  The  ancients  thought  better  of  them ;  they  were 
emblems  of  wisdom,  and  the  ladies  very  appropriately  wore  them 
for  bracelets  and  necklaces." 

"  I  would  n't  have  one  for  the  world,"  said  Tina.  "  I  always 
hated  them,  they  are  so  bright,  and  still,  and  sly." 


BEHIND   THE   CURTAIN.  579 

"Mere  prejudice,"  said  Ellery,  laughing.  "I  must  cure  it 
by  giving  you,  one  of  .these  days,  an  emerald-green  serpent  for  a 
bracelet,  with  ruby  crest  and  diamond  eyes  ;  you  've  no  idea  what 
pretty  fellows  they  are.  But  here,  you  see,  we  are  coming  to  the 
house  ;  you  can  smell  the  roses." 

"  How  lovely  and  how  changed  ! "  said  Tina.  "  O,  what  a 
world  of  white  roses  over  that  portico,  —  roses  everywhere,  and 
white  lilacs.  It  is  a  perfect  paradise !  " 

"  May  you  find  it  so,  my  little  Eve,"  said  Ellery  Davenport,  as 
the  carriage  stopped  at  the  door.  Ellery  sprang  out  lightly,  and, 
turning,  took  Tina  in  his  arms  and  set  her  down  in  the  porch. 

They  stood  there  a  moment  in  the  moonlight,  and  listened  to 
the  fainter  patter  of  the  horses'  feet  as  they  went  down  the  drive. 

"  Come  in,  my  little  wife,"  said  Ellery,  opening  the  door,  "  and 
may  the  black  serpent  bring  you  good  luck." 

The  house  was  brilliantly  lighted  by  wax  candles  in  massive 
silver  candlesticks. 

"  0,  how  strangely  altered ! "  said  Tina,  running  about,  and 
looking  into  the  rooms  with  the  delight  of  a  child.  "  How 
beautiful  everything  is  ! " 

The  housekeeper,  a  respectable  female,  now  appeared  and  of- 
fered her  services  to  conduct  her  young  mistress  to  her  rooms. 
Ellery  went  with  her,  almost  carrying  her  up  the  staircase  on  his 
arm.  Above,  as  below,  all  was  light  and  bright.  "  This  room  is 
ours,"  said  Ellery,  drawing  her  into  that  chamber  which  Tina  re- 
membered years  before  as  so  weirdly  desolate.  Now  it  was  all 
radiant  with  hangings  and  furniture  of  blue  and  silver ;  the 
open  windows  let  in  branches  of  climbing  white  roses,  the  vases 
were  full  of  lilies.  The  housekeeper  paused  a  moment  at  the 
door. 

"There  is  a  lady  in  the  little  parlor  below  that  has  been  wait- 
ing more  than  an  hour  to  see  you  and  madam,"  she  said. 

"  A  lady ! "  said  both  Tina  and  Ellery,  in  tones  of  surprise. 
"  Did  she  give  her  name  ?  "  said  Ellery. 

"  She  gave  no  name ;  but  she  said  that  you,  sir,  would  know 
her." 

"  I  cant  imagine  who  it  should  be,"  said  Ellery.      "  Perhaps, 


580  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

Tina,  I  had  better  go  down  and  see  while  you  are  dressing,"  said 
Ellery. 

"  Indeed,  that  would  be  a  pretty  way  to  do !  No,  sir,  I  allow 
no  private  interviews,"  said  Tina,  with  authority,  —  "  no,  I  am 
all  ready  and  quite  dressed  enough  to  go  down. 

"  Well,  then,  little  positive,"  said  Ellery,  "  be  it  as  you  will ; 
let 's  go  together." 

"  Well,  I  must  confess,"  said  Tina,  "  I  did  n't  look  for  wed- 
ding callers  out  here  to-night ;  but  never  mind,  it 's  a  nice  little 
mystery  to  see  what  she  wants." 

They  went  down  the  staircase  together,  passed  across  the  hall, 
and  entered  the  little  boudoir,  where  Tina  and  Harry  had  spent 
their  first  night  together.  The  door  of  the  writing  cabinet  stood 
open,  and  a  lady  all  in  black,  in  a  bonnet  and  cloak,  stood  in  the 
doorway. 

As  she  came  forward,  Tina  exclaimed,  "  0  Ellery,  -it  is  she,  — 
the  lady  in  the  closet !  "  and  sank  down  pale  and  half  fainting. 

Ellery  Davenport  turned  pale  too ;  his  cheeks,  his  very  lips 
were  blanched  like  marble  ;  he  looked  utterly  thunderstruck  and 
appalled. 

"  Emily !  "  he  said.    "  Great  God ! " 

"Yes,  Emily!"  she  said,  coming  forward  slowly  and  with 
dignity.  "You  did  not  expect  to  meet  ME  here  and  now, 
Ellery  Davenport!" 

There  was  for  a  moment  a  silence  that  was  perfectly  awful. 
Tina  looked  on  without  power  to  speak,  as  in  a  dreadful  dream. 
The  ticking  of  the  little  French  mantel  clock  seemed  like  a 
voice  of  doom  to  her. 

The  lady  walked  close  up  to  Ellery  Davenport,  drew  forth  a 
letter,  and  spoke  in  that  fearfully  calm  way  that  comes  from  the 
very  white-heat  of  passion. 

"  Ellery,''  she  said,  "  here  is  your  letter.  You  did  not  know 
me  —  you  could  not  know  me  —  if  you  thought,  after  that  letter,  I 
would  accept  anything  from  you  !  /  live  on  your  bounty  !  I 
would  sooner  work  as  a  servant !  " 

"  Ellery,  Ellery ! "  said  Tina,  springing  up  and  clasping  his 
arm,  "  O,  tell  me  who  she  is !  What  is  she  to  you  ?  Is  she  — 
is  she  —  " 


BEHIND   THE   CURTAIN.  581 

"  Be  quiet,  my  poor  child,"  said  the  woman,  turning  to  her  with 
an  air  of  authority.  "  I  have  no  claims  ;  I  come  to  make  none. 
Such  as  this  man  is,  he  is  your  husband,  not  mine.  You 
believe  in  him  ;  so  did  I,  —  love  him ;  so  did  I.  I  gave  up  all  for 
him,  —  country,  home,  friends,  name,  reputation,  —  for  I  thought 
him  such  a  man  that  a  woman  might  well  sacrifice  her  whole  life 
to  him  !  He  is  the  father  of  my  child !  But  fear  not.  The  world, 
of  course,  will  approve  him  and  condemn  me.  They  will  say  he 
did  well  to  give  up  his  mistress  and  take  a  wife ;  it 's  the  world's 
morality.  What  -woman  will  think  the  less  of  him,  or  smile  the 
less  on  him,  when  she  hears  it  ?  What  woman  will  not  feel  her- 
self too  good  even  to  touch  my  hand  ?  " 

"  Emily,"  said  Ellery  Davenport,  bitterly,  "  if  you  thought  I 
deserved  this,  you  might,  at  least,  have  spared  this  poor  child." 

"  The  truth  is  the  best  foundation  in  married  life,  Ellery,"  she 
said,  "  and  the  truth  you  have  small  faculty  for  speaking.  I  do 
her  a  favor  in  telling  it.  Let  her  start  fair  from  the  commence- 
ment, and  then  there  will  be  no  more  to  be  told.  Besides,"  she 
added,  "  I  shall  not  trouble  you  long.  There"  she  said,  putting 
down  a  jewel-case, —  "  there  are  your  gifts  to  me, — there  are  your 
letters."  Then  she  threw  on  the  table  a  miniature  set  in  dia- 
monds, "  There  is  your  picture.  And  now  God  help  me  !  Fare- 
well." 

She  turned  and  glided  swiftly  from  the  room. 

*  *  =&  *  * 

Readers  who  remember  the  former  part  of  this  narrative  will 
see  at  once  that  it  was,  after  all,  Ellery  Davenport  with  whom, 
years  before,  Emily  Rossiter  had  fled  to  France.  They  had  re- 
sided there,  and  subsequently  in  Switzerland,  and  she  had  de- 
voted herself  to  him,  and  to  his  interests,  with  all  the  single- 
hearted  fervor  of  a  true  wife. 

On  her  part,  there  was  a  full  and  conscientious  belief  that  the 
choice  of  the  individuals  alone  constituted  a  true  marriage,  and 
that  the  laws  of  human  society  upon  this  subject  were  an  oppres- 
sion which  needed  to  be  protested  against. 

On  his  part,  however,  the  affair  was  a  simple  gratification  of 
passion,  and  the  principles,  such  as  they  were,  were  used  by  hiin 


582  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

as  he  used  all  principles,  —  simply  as  convenient  machinery  for 
carrying  out  his  own  purposes.  Ellery  Davenport  spoke  his  own 
convictions  when  he  said  that  there  was  no  subject  which  had  not 
its  right  and  its  wrong  side,  each  of  them  capable  of  being  unan- 
swerably sustained.  He  had  played  with  his  own  mind  in  this 
manner  until  he  had  entirely  obliterated  conscience.  He  could 
at  any  time  dazzle  and  confound  his  own  moral  sense  with  his 
own  reasonings ;  and  it  was  sometimes  amusing,  but,  in  the  long 
run,  tedious  and  vexatious  to  him,  to  find  that  what  he  main- 
tained merely  for  convenience  and  for  theory  should  be  regarded 
by  Emily  so  seriously,  and  with  such  an  earnest  eye  to  logical 
consequences.  In  short,  the  two  came,  in  the  course  of  their 
intimacy,  precisely  to  the  spot  to  which  many  people  come  who 
are  united  by  an  indissoluble  legal  tie.  Slowly,  and  through  an 
experience  of  many  incidents,  they  had  come  to  perceive  an 
entire  and  irrepressible  conflict  of  natures  between  them. 

Notwithstanding  that  Emily  had  taken  a  course  diametrically 
opposed  to  the  principles  of  her  country  and  her  fathers,  she  re- 
tained largely  the  Puritan  nature.  Instances  have  often  been  seen 
in  New  England  of  men  and  women  who  had  renounced  every 
particle  of  the  Puritan  theology,  and  yet  retained  in  their 
fibre  and  composition  all  the  moral  traits  of  the  Puritans  —  their 
uncompromising  conscientiousness,  their  inflexible  truthfulness, 
and  their  severe  logic  in  following  the  convictions  of  their  un- 
derstandings. And  the  fact  was,  that  while  Emily  had  sacri- 
ficed for  Ellery  Davenport  her  position  in  society,  —  while  she 
had  exposed  herself  to  the  very  coarsest  misconstructions  of  the 
commonest  minds,  and  made  herself  liable  to  be  ranked  by  her 
friends  in  New  England  among  abandoned  outcasts,  —  she  was 
really  a  woman  standing  on  too  high  a  moral  plane  for  Ellery 
Davenport  to  consort  with  her  in  comfort.  He  was  ambitious,  in- 
triguing, unscrupulous,  and  it  was  an  annoyance  to  him  to  be 
obliged  to  give  an  account  of  himself  to  her.  He  was  tired  of 
playing  the  moral  hero,  the  part  that  he  assumed  and  acted  with 
great  success  during  the  time  of  their  early  attachment.  It 
annoyed  him  to  be  held  to  any  consistency  in  principles.  The 
very  devotion  to  him  which  she  felt,  regarding  him,  as  she 


BEHIND   THE   CURTAIN. 

always  did,  in  his  higher  and  nobler  nature,  vexed  and  annoyed 
him. 

Of  late  years  he  had  taken  long  vacations  from  her  society,  in 
excursions  to  England  and  America.  When  the  prospect  of 
being  ambassador  to  England  dawned  upon  him,  he  began  seri- 
ously to  consider  the  inconvenience  of  being  connected  with  a 
woman  unpresentable  in  society.  He  dared  not  risk  introducing 
her  into  those  high  circles  as  his  wife.  Moreover,  he  knew  that 
it  was  a  falsehood  to  which  he  never  should  gain  her  consent;  and 
running  along  in  the  line  of  his  thoughts  came  his  recollections 
of  Tina.  When  he  returned  to  America,  with  the  fact  in  his 
mind  that  she  would  be  the  acknowledged  daughter  of  a  respect- 
able old  English  family,  all  her  charms  and  fascinations  had  a 
double  power  over  him.  He  delivered  himself  up  to  them  with- 
out scruple. 

He  wrote  immediately  to  a  confidential  friend  in  Switzerland, 
enclosing  money,  with  authority  to  settle  upon  Emily  a  villa  near 
Geneva,  and  a  suitable  income.  He  trusted  to  her  pride  for  the 
rest. 

Never  had  the  thought  come  into  his  head  that  she  would 
return  to  her  native  country,  and  brave  all  the  reproach  and 
humiliation  of  such  a  step,  rather  than  accept  this  settlement 
at  his  hands. 


584  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

TINA'S  SOLUTION. 

HARRY  and  I  had  gone  back  to  our  college  room  after  the 
wedding.     There  we  received  an  earnest  letter  from  Miss 
Mehitable,  begging  us  to  come  to  her  at  once.     It  was  brought 
by  Sain  Lawson,  who  told  us  that  he  had  got  up  at  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning  to  start  away  with  it. 

"  There  's  trouble  of  some  sort  or  other  in  that  'ere  house," 
said  Sam.  "  Last  night  I  was  in  ter  the  Deacon's,  and  we  was 
a  talkin'  over  the  weddin',  when  Polly  came  in  all  sort  o'  flus- 
tered, and  said  Miss  Rossiter  wanted  to  see  Mis'  Badger ;  and 
your  granny  she  went  over,  and  did  n't  come  home  all  night. 
She  sot  up  with  somebody,  and  I  'm  certain  't  wa'  n't  Miss  Rossi- 
ter, 'cause  I  see  her  up  tol'able  spry  in  the  mornin' ;  but,  lordy 
massy,  somethin'  or  other  's  ben  a  usin'  on  her  up,  for  she  was 
all  wore  out,  and  looked  sort  o'  limpsy,  as  if  there  wa'  n't  no  starch 
left  in  her.  She  sent  for  me  last  night.  '  Sam,'  says  she,  '  I 
want  to  send  a  note  to  the  boys  just  as  quick  as  I  can,  and  I  don't 
want  to  wait  for  the  mail ;  can't  you  carry  it  ?  '  '  Lordy  massy, 
yes,'  says  I.  '  I  hope  there  ain't  nothin'  happened,'  says  I ;  and 
ye  see  she  did  n't  answer  me ;  and  puttin'  that  with  Mis'  Badger's 
settin'  there  all  night,  it  'peared  to  me  there  was  suthin',  I  can  't 
make  out  quite  what." 

Harry  and  I  lost  no  time  in  going  to  the  stage-house,  and 
found  ourselves  by  noon  at  Miss  Mehitable's  door. 

When  we  went  in,  we  found  Miss  Mehitable  seated  in  close 
counsel  with  Mr.  Jonathan  Rossiter.  His  face  looked  sharp,  and 
grave,  and  hard  ;  his  large  gray  eyes  had  in  them  a  fiery,  excited 
gleam.  Spread  out  on  the  table  before  them  were  files  of  letters, 
in  the  handwriting  of  which  I  had  before  had  a  glimpse.  The 
brother  and  sister  had  evidently  been  engaged  in  reading  them, 
as  some  of  them  lay  open  under  their  hands. 


TINA'S  SOLUTION.  585 

When  we  came  into  the  room,  both  looked  up.  Miss  Mehit- 
able  rose,  and  offered  her  hands  to  us  in  an  eager,  excited  way, 
as  if  she  were  asking  something  of  us.  The  color  flashed  into 
Mr.  Rossiter's  cheeks,  and  he  suddenly  leaned  forward  over  the 
papers  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  It  was  a  gesture  of 
shame  and  humiliation  infinitely  touching  to  me. 

"  Horace/'  said  Miss  Mehitable,  "  the  thing  we  feared  has 
come  upon  us.  0  Horace,  Horace !  why  could  we  not  have 
known  it  in  time  ?  " 

I  divined  at  once.  My  memory,  like  an  electric  chain,  flashed 
back  over  sayings  and  incidents  of  years. 

"  The  villain  !  "  I  said. 

Mr.  Rossiter  ground  his  foot  on  the  floor  with  a  hard,  impatient 
movement,  as  if  he  were  crushing  some  poisonous  reptile. 

"  It 's  well  for  him  that  /  'm  not  God,"  he  said  through  his 
closed  teeth. 

Harry  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  us  in  dazed  and  inquir- 
ing surprise.  He  had  known  in  a  vague  way  of  Emily's  disap- 
pearance, and  of  Miss  Mehitable's  anxieties,  but  it  never  had 
occurred  to  his  mind  to  connect  the  two.  In  fact,  our  whole 
education  had  been  in  such  a  wholesome  and  innocent  state  of 
society,  that  neither  of  us  had  the  foundation,  in  our  experi- 
ence or  habits  of  thought,  for  the  conception  of  anything  like  vil- 
lany.  We  were  far  enough  from  any  comprehension  of  the  melo- 
dramatic possibilities  suggested  in  our  days  by  that  heaving  and 
tumbling  modern  literature,  whose  waters  cast  up  mire  and  dirt. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  shocked,  incredulous  expression  on 
Harry's  face  as  he  listened  to  my  explanations,  nor  the  indigna- 
tion to  which  it  gave  place. 

"  I  would  sooner  have  seen  Tina  in  her  grave  than  married  to 
such  a  man,"  he  said  huskily. 

"  O  Harry  !  "  said  Miss  Mehitable. 

"  I  would !  "  he  said,  rising  excitedly.  "  There  are  things  that 
men  can  do  that  still  leave  hope  of  them ;  but  a  thing  like  this  is 
final,  —  it  is  decisive." 

"  That  is  my  opinion,  Harry,"  said  Mr.  Rossiter.  "  It  is  a  sin 
that  leaves  no  place  for  repentance." 

25* 


586  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

"  We  have  been  reading  these  letters,"  said  Miss  Mehitable ; 
"  they  were  sent  to  us  by  Tina,  and  they  do  but  confirm  what  I 
always  said,  —  that  Emily  fell  by  her  higher  nature.  She  learned, 
under  Dr.  Stern,  to  think  and  to  reason  boldly,  even  when  differ- 
ing from  received  opinion  ;  and  this  hardihood  of  mind  and 
opinion  she  soon  turned  upon  the  doctrines  he  taught.  Then 
she  abandoned  the  Bible,  and  felt  herself  free  to  construct  her 
o.wn  system  of  morals.  Then  came  an  intimate  friendship  with 
a  fascinating  married  man,  whose  domestic  misfortunes  made  a 
constant  demand  on  her  sympathy  ;  and  these  charming  French 
friends  of  hers  —  who  were,  as  far  as  I  see,  disciples  of  the  new 
style  of  philosophy,  and  had  come  to  America  to  live  in  a  union 
with  each  other  which  was  not  recognized  by  the  laws  of  France 
—  all  united  to  make  her  feel  that  she  was  acting  heroically 
and  virtuously  in  sacrificing  her  whole  life  to  her  lover,  and 
disregarding  what  they  called  the  tyranny  of  human  -law.  In 
Emily's  eyes,  her  connection  had  all  the  sacredness  of  mar- 
riage." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Rossiter,  "  but  see  now  how  all  these  infernal, 
fine-spun,  and  high-flown  notions  always  turn  out  to  the  disadvan- 
tage of  the  weaker  party !  It  is  man  who  always  takes  advan- 
tage of  woman  in  relations  like  these ;  it  is  she  that  gives  all,  and 
he  that  takes  all ;  it  is  she  risks  everything,  and  he  risks 
nothing.  Hard  as  marriage  bonds  bear  in  individual  cases,  it  is 
for  woman's  interest  that  they  should  be  as  stringently  maintained 
as  the  Lord  himself  has  left  them.  When  once  they  begin  to  be 
lessened,  it  is  always  the  weaker  party  that  goes  to  the  wall !  " 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  suppose  a  case  of  confirmed  and  hopeless 
insanity  on  either  side." 

He  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "  Did  you  ever  think,"  he  said, 
"  if  men  had  the  laws  of  nature  in  their  hands,  what  a  mess  they 
would  make  of  them  ?  What  treatises  we  should  have  against 
the  cruelty  of  fire  in  always  burning,  and  of  water  in  always  drown- 
ing !  What  saints  and  innocents  has  the  fire  tortured,  and  what 
just  men  made  perfect  has  water  drowned,  making  no  excep- 
tions !  But  who  doubts  that  this  inflexibility  in  natural  law  is, 
after  all,  the  best  thing  ?  The  laws  of  morals  are  in  our  hands, 


TINA'S   SOLUTION.  587 

and  so  reversible,  and,  therefore,  we  are  always  clamoring  for  ex- 
ceptions. I  think  they  should  cut  their  way  like  those  of  nature, 
inflexibly  and  eternally  !  " 

Here  the  sound  of  wheels  startled  us.  I  went  to  the  win- 
dow, and,  looking  through  the  purple  spikes  of  the  tall  old  lilacs, 
which  came  up  in  a  bower  around  the  open  window,  I  saw  Tina 
alighting  from  a  carriage. 

"  O  Aunty,"  I  said  involuntarily,  "  it  is  she.  She  is  coming, 
poor  child." 

We  heard  a  light  fluttering  motion  and  a  footfall  on  the  stairs, 
and  the  door  opened,  and  in  a  moment  Tina  stood  among  us. 

She  was  very  pale,  and  there  was  an  expression  such  as  I 
never  saw  in  her  face  before.  There  had  been  a  shock  which 
had  driven  her  soul  inward,  from  the  earthly  upon  the  spiritual 
and  the  immortal.  Something  deep  and  pathetic  spoke  in  her 
eyes,  as  she  looked  around  on  each  of  us  for  a  moment  without 
speaking.  As  she  met  Miss  Mehitable's  haggard,  careworn  face, 
her  lip  quivered.  She  ran  to  her,  threw  her  arms  round  her, 
and  hid  her  face  on  her  shoulder,  and  sobbed  out,  '  0  Aunty, 
Aunty  !  I  didn't  think  I  should  live  to  make  you  this  trouble." 

"  You,  darling ! "  said  Miss  Mehitable.  "  It  is  not  you  wha 
have  made  it." 

"  I  am  the  cause,"  she  said.  "  I  know  that  he  has  done 
dreadfully  wrong.  I  cannot  defend  him,  but  oh !  I  love 
him  still.  I  cannot  help  loving  him;  it  is  my  duty  to,"  she 
added.  "I  promised,  you  know,  before  God,  'for  better,  for 
worse  ' ;  and  what  I  promised  I  must  keep.  I  am  his  wife  ;  there. 
is  no  going  back  from  that." 

"  I  know  it,  darling,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  stroking  her  head. 
"  You  are  right,  and  my  love  for  you  will  never  change." 

"  I  am  come,"  she  said,  "  to  see  what  can  be  done." 

"  NOTHING  can  be  done  !  "  spoke  out  the  deep  voice  of  Jona- 
than Rossiter.  "  She  is  lost  and  we  disgraced  beyond  remedy ! " 

"  You  must  not  say  that,"  Tina  said,  raising  her  head,  her 
eyes  sparkling  through  her  tears  with  some  of  her  old  vivacity. 
"  Your  sister  is  a  noble,  injured  woman.  We  must  shield  her  and 
Have  her ;  there  is  every  excuse  for  her." 


588  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

"  There  is  NEVER  any  excuse  for  such  conduct,"  said  Mr.  Ros- 
siter,  harshly. 

Tina  started  up  in  her  headlong,  energetic  fashion.  "  What 
right  have  you  to  talk  so,  if  you  call  yourself  a  Christian  ?  "  she 
said.  "  Think  a  minute.  WHO  was  it  said,  '  Neither  do  I  con- 
demn thee  '  ?  and  whom  did  he  say  it  to  ?  Christ  was  not  afraid 
or  ashamed  to  say  that  to  a  poor  friendless  woman,  though  he 
knew  his  words  would  never  pass  away." 

"  God  bless  you,  darling,  —  God  bless  you  !  "  said  Miss  Me- 
hitable,  clasping  her  in  her  arms. 

"  I  have  read  those  letters,"  continued  Tina,  impetuously. 
"  He  did  not  like  me  to  do  it,  but  I  claimed  it  as  my  right,  and 
I  would  do  it,  and  I  can  see  in  all  a  noble  woman,  gone  astray 
from  noble  motives.  I  can  see  that  she  was  grand  and  unselfish 
in  her  love,  that  she  was  perfectly  self-sacrificing,  and  I  believe 
it  was  because  Jesus  understood  these  things  in  the  hearts  of 
women  that  he  uttered  those  blessed  words.  The  law  was  against 
that  poor  woman,  the  doctors,  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  all  re- 
spectable people,  were  against  her,  and  Christ  stepped  between 
all  and  her ;  he  sent  them  away  abashed  and  humbled,  and  spoke 
those  lovely  words  to  her.  O,  I  shall  forever  adore  him  for  it ! 
He  is  my  Lord  and  my  God  !  " 

There  was  a  pause  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  Tina  spoke 
again. 

"  Now,  Aunty,  hear  my  plan.  You,  perhaps,  do  not  believe  any 
good  of  him,  and  so  I  will  not  try  to  make  you ;  only  I  will  say 
that  he  is  anxious  to  do  all  he  can.  He  has  left  everything  in 
my  hands.  This  must  go  no  farther  than  us  few  who  now  know 
it.  Your  sister  refused  the  property  he  tried  to  settle  on  her.  It 
was  noble  to  do  it.  I  should  have  felt  just  as  she  did.  But,  dear 
Aunty,  my  fortune  I  always  meant  to  settle  on  you,  and  it  will  be 
enough  for  you  both.  It  will  make  you  easy  as  to  money,  and 
you  can  live  together." 

"  Yes,  my^  dear,"  said  Miss  Mehitable  ;  "  but  how  can  this  be 
kept  secret  when  there  is  the  child  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  tfiat,  Aunty.  I  will  take  the  poor  little 
one  abroad  with  me,  —  children  always  love  me.  I  can  make 


TINA'S  SOLUTION.  589 

her  so  happy  ;  and  0,  it  will  be  such  a  motive  to  make  amends  to 
her  for  all  this  wrong.  Let  me  see  your  sister,  aunty,  and  tell 
her  about  it." 

"  Dear  child,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  "  you  can  do  nothing  with 
her.  All  last  night  I  thought  she  was  dying.  Since  then  she 
seems  to  have  recovered  her  strength ;  but  she  neither  speaks 
nor  moves.  She  lies  with  her  eyes  open,  but  notices  nothing  you 
say  to  her." 

"  Poor  darling !  "  said  Tina.  "  But,  Aunty,  let  me  go  to  her. 
I  am  so  sure  that  God  will  help  me,  —  that  God  sends  me  to 
her.  I  must  see  her  !  " 

Tina 's  strong  impulses  seemed  to  carry  us  all  with  her.  Miss 
Mehitable  arose,  and,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  opened  the  door  of 
a  chamber  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall.  I  looked  in,  and  saw 
that  it  was  darkened.  Tina  went  boldly  in,  and  closed  the  door. 
We  all  sat  silent  together.  We  heard  her  voice,  at  times  soft  and 
pleading  ;  then  it  seemed  to  grow  more  urgent  and  impetuous  as 
she  spoke  continuously  and  in  tones  of  piercing  earnestness. 

After  a  while,  there  were  pauses  of  silence,  and  then  a  voice 
in  reply. 

"  There,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  "  Emily  has  begun  to  answer 
her,  thank  God !  Anything  is  better  than  this  oppressive  silence. 
It  is  frightful !  " 

And  now  the  sound  of  an  earnest  conversation  was  heard,  wax- 
ing on  both  sides  more  and  more  ardent  and  passionate.  Tina 's 
voice  sometimes  could  be  distinguished  in  tones  of  the  most  plead- 
ing entreaty  ;  sometimes  it  seemed  almost  like  sobbing.  After  a 
while,  there  came  a  great  silence,  broken  by  now  and  then  an  in- 
distinct word ;  and  then  Tina  came  out,  softly  closing  the  door. 
Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  her  hair  partially  dishevelled,  but  she 
smiled  brightly,  —  one  of  her  old  triumphant  smiles  when  she 
had  carried  a  point. 

"  I  've  conquered  at  last !  I  Ve  won ! "  she  said,  almost  breath- 
less. "  0, 1  prayed  so  that  I  might,  and  I  did.  She  gives  all 
up  to  me  ;  she  loves  me.  We  love  each  other  dearly.  And  now 
I  'in  going  to  take  the  little  one  with  me,  and  by  and  by  I  will 
bring  her  back  to  her,  and  I  will  make  her  so  happy.  You 


590  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

must  give  me  the  darling  at  once,  and  I  will  take  her  away  with 
us  ;  for  we  are  going  to  sail  next  week.  We  sail  sooner  than  I 
thought,"  she  said  ;  "  but  this  makes  it  best  to  go  at  once." 

Miss  Mehitable  rose  and  went  out,  but  soon  reappeared,  lead- 
ing in  a  lovely  little  girl  with  great  round,  violet  blue  eyes, 
and  curls  of  golden  hair.  The  likeness  of  Ellery  Davenport  was 
plainly  impressed  on  her  infant  features. 

Tina  ran  towards  her,  and  stretched  out  her  arms.  "  Darling," 
she  said,  "  come  to  me." 

The  little  one,  after  a  moment's  survey,  followed  that  law  of 
attraction  which  always  drew  children  to  Tina.  She  came  up 
confidingly,  and  nestled  her  head  on  her  shoulder. 

Tina  gave  her  her  watch  to  play  with,  and  the  child  shook  it 
about,  well  pleased. 

"  Emily  want  to  go  ride  ?  "  said  Tina,  carrying  her  to  the  win- 
dow and  showing  her  the  horses. 

The  child  laughed,  and  stretched  out  her  hand. 

"  Bring  me  her  things,  Aunty,"  she  said.  "  Let  there  not  be  a 
moment  for  change  of  mind.  I  take  her  with  me  this  moment." 

A  few  moments  after,  Tina  went  lightly  tripping  down  the 
stairs,  and  Harry  and  I  with  her,  carrying  the  child  and  its  little 
basket  of  clothing. 

"  There,  put  them  in,"  she  said.  "  And  now,  boys,"  she  said, 
turning  and  offering  both  her  hands,  "  good  by.  I  love  you 
both  dearly,  and  always  shall." 

She  kissed  us  both,  and  was  gone  from  our  eyes  before  I  awoke 

from  the  dream  into  which  she  had  thrown  me. 

***** 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Mehitable,  when  the  sound  of  wheels  died 
away,  "  could  I  have  believed  that  anything  could  have  made  my 
heart  so  much  lighter  as  this  visit  ?  " 

"  She  was  inspired,"  said  Mr.  Rossiter. 

"  Tina's  great  characteristic,"  said  I.  "  What  makes  her  differ 
from  others  is  this  capacity  of  inspiration.  She  seems  sometimes 
to  rise,  in  a  moment,  to  a  level  above  her  ordinary  self,  and  to 
carry  all  up  with  her  ! " 

"  And  to  think  that  such  a  woman  has  thrown  herself  away 
on  such  a  man  ! "  said  Harry. 


TINA'S   SOLUTION.  '591 

"  I  foresee  a  dangerous  future  for  her,"  said  Mr.  Rossiter. 
"With  her  brilliancy,,  her  power  of  attraction,  with  the  tempta- 
tions of  a  new  and  fascinating  social  life  before  her,  and  with 
only  that  worthless  fellow  for  a  guide,  I  am  afraid  she  will  not 
continue  our  Tina." 

"  Suppose  we  trust  in  Him  who  has  guided  her  hitherto,"  said 
Harry. 

"  People  usually  consider  that  sort  of  trust  a  desperate  resort," 
said  Mr.  Rossiter.  "  '  May  the  Lord  help  her,'  means,  '  It  's  all 
up  with  her.' " 

"  We  see,"  said  I,  "  that  the  greatest  possible  mortification  and 
sorrow  that  could  meet  a  young  wife  has  only  raised  her  into  a 
higher  plane.  So  let  us  hope  for  her  future." 


592  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 

WHAT    CAME    OP    IT. 

THE  next  week  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ellery  Davenport  sailed  for 
England. 

I  am  warned  by  the  increased  quantity  of  manuscript  which 
lies  before  me  that,  if  I  go  on  recounting  scenes  and  incidents  with 
equal  minuteness,  my  story  will  transcend  the  limits  of  modern 
patience.  Richardson  might  be  allowed  to  trail  off  into  seven  vol- 
umes, and  to  trace  all  the  histories  of  all  his  characters,  even  unto 
the  third  and  fourth  generations  ;  but  Richardson  did  not  live  in  the 
days  of  railroad  and  steam,  and  mankind  then  had  more  leisure 
than  now. 

I  am  warned,  too,  that  the  departure  of  the  principal  character 
from  the  scene  is  a  signal  for  general  weariness  through  the  au- 
dience,—  for  looking  up  of  gloves,  and  putting  on  of  shawls,  and 
getting  ready  to  call  one's  carriage. 

In  fact,  when  Harry  and  I  had  been  down  to  see  Tina  off,  and 
had  stood  on  the  shore,  watching  and  waving  our  handkerchiefs, 
until  the  ship  became  a  speck  in  the  blue  airy  distance,  I  turned 
back  to  the  world  with  very  much  the  feeling  that  there  was 
nothing  left  in  it.  What  I  had  always  dreamed  of,  hoped  for, 
planned  for,  and  made  the  object  of  all  my  endeavors,  so  far  as 
this  world  was  concerned,  was  gone,  —  gone,  so  far  as  I  could  see, 
hopelessly  and  irredeemably ;  and  there  came  over  me  that  utter 
languor  and  want  of  interest  in  every  mortal  thing,  which  is  one 
of  the  worst  diseases  of  the  mind. 

But  I  knew  that  it  would  never  do  to  give  way  to  this  lethargy. 
I  needed  an  alterative ;  and  so  I  set  myself,  with  all  my  might 
and  soul,  to  learning  a  new  language.  There  was  an  old  German 
emigrant  in  Cambridge,  with  whom  I  became  a  pupil,  and  I  plunged 
into  German  as  into  a  new  existence.  I  recommend  every- 
body who  wishes  to  try  the  waters  of  Lethe  to  study  a  new  Ian- 


WHAT   CAME   OF  IT.  593 

guage,  and  learn  to  think  in  new  forms ;  it  is  like  going  out  of 
one  sphere  of  existence  into  another. 

Some  may  wonder  that  I  do  not  recommend  devotion  for  this 
grand  alterative ;  but  it  is  a  fact,  that,  when  one  has  to  combat  with 
the  terrible  lassitude  produced  by  the  sudden  withdrawal  of  an 
absorbing  object  of  affection,  devotional  exercises  sometimes  hin- 
der more  than  they  help.  There  is  much  in  devotional  religion 
of  the  same  strain  of  softness  and  fervor  which  is  akin  to  earthly 
attachments,  and  the  one  is  almost  sure  to  recall  the  other.  What 
the  soul  wants  is  to  be  distracted  for  a  while,  —  to  be  taken  out 
of  its  old  gTooves  of  thought,  and  run  upon  entirely  new  ones. 
Religion  must  be  sought  in  these  moods,  in  its  active  and  precep- 
tive form,  —  what  we  may  call  its  business  character,  —  rather 
than  in  its  sentimental  and  devotional  one. 

It  had  been  concluded  among  us  all  that  it  would  be  expedient 
for  Miss  Mehitable  to  remove  from  Oldtown  and  take  a  residence 
in  Boston. 

It  was  desirable,  for  restoring  the  health  of  Emily,  that  she 
should  have  more  change  and  variety,  and  less  minute  personal 
attention  fixed  upon  her,  than  could  be  the  case  in  the  little  village 
of  Oldtown.  Harry  and  I  did  a  great  deal  of  house-hunting  for 
them,  and  at  last  succeeded  in  securing  a  neat  little  cottage  on 
an  eminence  overlooking  the  harbor  in  the  outskirts  of  Boston. 

Preparing  this  house  for  them,  and  helping  to  establish  them  in 
it,  furnished  employment  for  a  good  many  of  our  leisure  hours. 
In  fact,  we  found  that  this  home  so  near  would  be  quite  an 
accession  to  our  pleasures.  Miss  Mehitable  had  always  been  one 
of  that  most  pleasant  and  desirable  kind  of  acquaintances  that  a 
young  man  can  have;  to  wit,  a  cultivated,  intelligent,  literary  female 
friend,  competent  to  advise  and  guide  one  in  one's  scholarly  career. 
We  became  greatly  interested  in  the  society  of  her  sister.  The 
strength  and  dignity  of  character  shown  by  this  unfortunate  lady 
in  recovering  her  position  commanded  our  respect.  She  was 
never  aware,  and  was  never  made  aware  by  anything  in  our 
manner,  that  we  were  acquainted  with  her  past  history. 

The  advice  of  Tina  on  this  subject  had  been  faithfully  followed, 
No  one  in  our  circle,  or  in  Boston,  except  my  grandmother,  hacl 


594  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

any  knowledge  of  how  the  case  really  stood.  In  fact,  Miss 
Mehitable  had  always  said  that  her  sister  had  gone  abroad  to 
study  in  France,  and  her  reappearance  again  was  only  noticed 
among  the  few  that  inquired  into  it  at  all,  as  her  return.  Harry 
and  I  used  to  study  French  with  her,  both  on  our  own  account, 
and  as  a  means  of  giving  her  some  kind  of  employment.  On 
the  whole,  the  fireside  circle  at  the  little  cottage  became  a  cheer- 
ful and  pleasant  retreat.  Miss  Mehitable  had  gained  what  she 
had  for  years  been  sighing  for,  —  the  opportunity  to  devote  her- 
self wholly  to  this  sister.  She  was  a  person  with  an  enthusiastic 
power  of  affection,  and  the  friendship  that  arose  between  the  two 
was  very  beautiful. 

The  experiences  of  the  French  Revolution,  many  of  whose 
terrors  she  had  witnessed,  had  had  a  powerful  influence  on  the 
mind  of  Emily,  in  making  her  feel  how  mistaken  had  been  those 
views  of  human  progress  which  come  from  the  mere  unassisted 
reason,  when  it  rejects  the  guidance  of  revealed  religion.  She 
was  in  a  mood  to  return  to  the  faith  of  her  fathers,  receiving  it 
again  under  milder  and  more  liberal  forms.  I  think  the  friend- 
ship of  Harry  was  of  great  use  to  her  in  enabling  her  to  attain 
to  a  settled  religious  faith.  They  were  peculiarly  congenial  to 
each  other,  and  his  simplicity  of  religious  trust  was  a  constant 
corrective  to  the  habits  of  thought  formed  by  the  sharp  and  pit- 
iless logic  of  her  early  training. 

A  residence  in  Boston  was  also  favorable  to  Emily's  recovery, 
in  giving  to  her  what  no  person  who  has  passed  through  such 
experiences  can  afford  to  be  without,  —  an  opportunity  to  help  those 
poorer  and  more  afflicted.  Emily  very  naturally  shrank  from 
society ;  except  the  Kitterys,  I  think  there  was  no  family  which 
she  visited.  I  think  she  always  had  the  feeling  that  she  would 
not  accept  the  acquaintance  of  any  who  would  repudiate  her 
were  all  the  circumstances  of  her  life  known  to  them.  But  with 
the  poor,  the  sick,  and  the  afflicted,  she  felt  herself  at  home.  In 
their  houses  she  was  a  Sister  of  Mercy,  and  the  success  of  these 
sacred  ministrations  caused  her,  after  a  while,  to  be  looked  upon 
with  a  sort  of  reverence  by  all  who  knew  her. 

Tina  proved  a  lively  and  most  indefatigable  correspondent. 


WHAT   CAME   OF  IT.  595 

Harry  and  I  heard  from  her  constantly,  in  minute  descriptions  of 
the  great  gay  world  of  London  society,  into  which  she  was 
thrown  as  wife  of  the  American  minister.  Her  letters  were 
like  her  old  self,  full  of  genius,  of  wit,  and  of  humor,  sparkling 
with  descriptions  and  anecdotes  of  character,  and  sometimes 
scrawled  on  the  edges  with  vivid  sketches  of  places,  or  scenes, 
or  buildings  that  hit  her  fancy.  She  was  improving,  she  told 
us,  taking  lessons  in  drawing  and  music,  and  Ellery  was  making 
a  capital  French  scholar  of  her.  We  could  see  through  all  her 
letters  an  evident  effort  to  set  forth  everything  relating  to  him 
to  the  best  advantage ;  every  good-natured  or  kindly  action, 
and  all  the  favorable  things  that  were  said  of  him,  were  put 
in  the  foreground,  with  even  an  anxious  care. 

To  Miss  Mehitable  and  Emily  came  other  letters,  filled  with 
the  sayings  and  doings  of  the  little  Emily,  recording  minutely  all 
the  particulars  of  her  growth,  and  the  incidents  of  the  nursery, 
and  showing  that  Tina,  with  all  her  going  out,  found  time  strictly 
to  fulfil  her  promises  in  relation  to  her. 

"  I  have  got  the  very  best  kind  of  a  maid  for  her,"  she  wrote, 
—  "just  as  good  and  true  as  Polly  is,  only  she  is  formed  by  the 
Church  Catechism  instead  of  the  Cambridge  Platform.  But  she 
is  faithfulness  itself,  and  Emily  loves  her  dearly." 

In  this  record,  also,  minute  notice  was  taken  of  all  the  pres- 
ents made  to  the  child  by  her  father,  —  of  all  his  smiles  and  caress- 
ing words.  Without  ever  saying  a  word  formally  in  her  hus- 
band's defence,  Tina  thus  contrived,  through  all  her  letters,  to 
produce  the  most  favorable  impression  of  him.  He  was  evi- 
dently, according  to  her  showing,  proud  of  her  beauty  and  her 
talents,  and  proud  of  the  admiration  which  she  excited  in  society. 

For  a  year  or  two  there  seemed  to  be  a  real  vein  of  happiness 
running  through  all  these  letters  of  Tina's.  I  spoke  to  Harry 
about  it  one  day. 

"Tina,"  said  I,  "has  just  that  fortunate  kind  of  constitution, 
buoyant  as  cork,  that  will  rise  to  the  top  of  the  stormiest  waters." 

"  Yes,"  said  Harry.  "  With  some  women  it  would  have 
been  an  entire  impossibility  to  live  happily  with  a  man  after 
such  a  disclosure,  —  with  Esther,  for  example.  I  have  never 


590  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

told  Esther  a  word  about  it ;  but  I  know  that  it  would  give  her  a 
horror  of  the  man  that  she  never  could  recover  from." 

u  It  is  not,"  said  I,  "  that  Tina  has  not  strong  moral  perceptions  ; 
but  she  has  this  buoyant  hopefulness ;  -she  believes  in  herself, 
and  she  believes  in  others.  She  always  feels  adequate  to  manage 
the  most  difficult  circumstances.  I  could  not  help  smiling  that 
dreadful  day,  when  she  came  over  and  found  us  all  so  distressed 
and  discouraged,  to  see  what  a  perfect  confidence  she  had  in  her- 
self and  in  her  own  power  to  arrange  the  affair,  —  to  make  Emily 
consent,  to  make  the  child  love  her;  in  short,  to  carry  out  every- 
thing according  to  her  own  sweet  will,  just  as  she  has  always 
done  with  us  all  ever  since  we  knew  her." 

"  I  always  wondered,"  said  Harry,  "  that,  with  all  her  pride, 
and  all  her  anger,  Emily  did  consent  to  let  the  child  go." 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  she  was  languid  and  weak,  and  she  was  over- 
borne by  simple  force  of  will.  Tina  was  so  positive  and  deter- 
mined, so  perfectly  assured,  and  so  warming  and  melting,  that  she 
carried  all  before  her.  There  was  n't  even  the  physical  power 
to  resist  her." 

"  And  do  you  think,"  said  Harry,  "  that  she  will  hold  her 
power  over  a  man  like  Ellery  Davenport  ?  " 

"Longer,  perhaps,  than  any  other  kind  of  woman,"  said  1, 
"  because  she  has  such  an  infinite  variety  about  her.  But,  after  all, 
you  remember  what  Miss  Debby  said  about  him,  —  that  he  never 
cared  long  for  anything  that  he  was  sure  of.  Restlessness  and 
pursuit  are  his  nature,  and  therefore  the  time  may  come  when 
she  will  share  the  fate  of  other  idols." 

"I  regard  it,"  said  Harry,  "as  the  most  dreadful  trial  to  a 
woman's  character  that  can  possibly  be,  to  love,  as  Tina  loves,  a 
man  whose  moral  standard  is  so  far  below  hers.  It  is  bad  enough 
to  be  obliged  to  talk  down  always  to  those  who  are  below  us  in 
intellect  and  comprehension ;  but  to  be  obliged  to  live  down,  all 
the  while,  to  a  man  without  conscience  or  moral  sense,  is  worse. 
I  think  often,  *  What  communion  hath  light  with  darkness  ? '  and 
the  only  hope  I  can  have  is  that  she  will  fully  find  him  out  at 
last." 

"  And  that,"  said  I?  u  is  a  hope  full  of  pain  to  her ;  but  it  seems 


WHAT   CAME   OF  IT.  597 

to  me  likely  to  be  realized.     A  man  who  lias  acted  as  he  has 
done  to  one  woman  certainly  never  will  be  true  to  another." 

Harry  and  I  were  now  thrown  more  and  more  exclusively 
upon  each  other  for  society. 

He  had  received  his  accession  of  fortune  with  as  little  exterior 
change  as  possible.  Many  in  his  situation  would  have  rushed 
immediately  over  to  England,  and  taken  delight  in  coming 
openly  into  possession  of  the  estate.  Harry's  fastidious  reticence, 
however,  hung  about  him  even  in  this.  It  annoyed  him  to  be 
an  object  of  attention  and  gossip,  and  he  felt  no  inclination  to  go 
alone  into  what  seemed  to  him  a  strange  country,  into  the  midst 
of  social  manners  and  customs  entirely  different  from  those  among 
which  he  had  been  brought  up.  He  preferred  to  remain  and 
pursue  his  course  quietly,  as  he  had  begun,  in  the  college  with 
me ;  and  he  had  taken  no  steps  in  relation  to  the  property  except 
to  consult  a  lawyer  in  Boston. 

Immediately  on  leaving  college,  it  was  his  design  to  be  married, 
and  go  with  Esther  to  see  what  could  be  done  in  England.  But  I 
think  his  heart  was  set  upon  a  home  in  America.  The  freedom 
and  simplicity  of  life  in  this  country  were  peculiarly  suited  to  his 
character,  and  he  felt  a  real  vocation  for  the  sacred  ministry,  not 
in  the  slightest  degree  lessened  by  the  good  fortune  which  had 
rendered  him  independent  of  it. 

Two  years  of  our  college  life  passed  away  pleasantly  enough 
in  hard  study,  interspersed  with  social  relaxations  among  the  few 
friends  nearest  to  us.  Immediately  after  our  graduation  came 
Harry's  marriage,  —  a  peaceful  little  idyllic  performance,  which 
took  us  back  to  the  mountains,  and  to  all  the  traditions  of  our  old 
innocent  woodland  life  there. 

After  the  wholesome  fashion  of  New  England  clergymen,  Mr. 
Avery  had  found  a  new  mistress  for  the  parsonage,  so  that  Esther 
felt  the  more  resigned  to  leaving  him.  When  I  had  seen  them 
off,  however,  I  felt  really  quite  alone  in  the  world.  The  silent, 
receptive,  sympathetic  friend  and  brother  of  my  youth  was  gone. 
But  immediately  came  the  effort  to  establish  myself  in  Boston. 
And,  through  the  friendly  offices  of  the  Kitterys,  I  was  placed  in 
connection  with  some  very  influential  lawyers,  who  gave  me  that 


598  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

helping  baud  which  takes  a  young  man  up  the  first  steps  of  the 
profession.  Harry  had  been  most  generous  and  liberal  in  regard 
to  all  our  family,  and  insisted  upon  it  that  I  should  share  his 
improved  fortunes.  There  are  friends  so  near  to  us  that  we  can 
take  1'rom  them  as  from  ourselves.  And  Harry  always  insisted 
that  he  could  in  no  way  so  repay  the  kindness  and  care  that  had 
watched  over  his  early  years  as  by  this  assistance  to  me. 

I  received  constant  letters  from  him,  and  from  their  drift  it 
became  increasingly  evident  that  the  claims  of  duty  upon  him 
would  lead  him  to  make  England  his  future  home.  In  one  of 
these  he  said :  "  I  have  always,  as  you  know,  looked  forward 
to  the  ministry,  and  to  such  a  kind  of  ministry  as  you  have  in 
America,  where  a  man,  for  the  most  part,  speaks  to  cultivated, 
instructed  people,  living  in  a  healthy  state  of  society,  where  a 
competence  is  the  rule,  and  where  there  is  a  practical  equality. 

"  I  had  no  conception  of  life,  such  as  I  see  it  to  be  here,  where 
there  are  whole  races  who  appear  born  to  poverty  and  subjection  ; 
where  there  are  woes,  and  dangers,  and  miseries  pressing  on 
whole  classes  of  men,  which  no  one  individual  can  do  much  to 
avert  or  alleviate.  But  it  is  to  this  very  state  of  society  that  I 
feel  a  call  to  minister.  I  shall  take  orders  in  the  Church  of 
England,  and  endeavor  to  carry  out  among  the  poor  and  the  suf- 
fering that  simple  Gospel  which  my  mother  taught  me,  and  which, 
after  all  these  years  of  experience,  after  all  these  theological 
discussions  to  which  I  have  listened,  remains  in  its  perfect  sim- 
plicity in  my  mind ;  namely,  that  every  human  soul  on  this 
earth  has  One  Friend,  and  that  Friend  is  Jesus  Christ  its  Lord 
and  Saviour. 

"  There  is  a  redeeming  power  in  being  beloved,  but  there  are 
many  human  beings  who  have  never  known  what  it  is  to  be  be 
loved.  And  my  theology  is,  once  penetrate  any  human  soul  with 
the  full  belief  that  God  loves  him,  and  you  save  him.  Such  is  to 
be  my  life's  object  and  end  ;  and,  in  this  ministry,  Esther  will  go 
with  me  hand  in  hand.  Her  noble  beauty  and  gracious  manners 
make  her  the  darling  of  all  our  people,  and  she  is  above  measure 
happy  in  the  power  of  doing  good  which  is  thus  put  into  her 
hands. 


WHAT   CAME   OF  IT.  599 

"  As  to  England,  mortal  heart  cannot  conceive  more  beauty  than 
there  is  here.  It  is  lovely  beyond  all  poets'  dreams.  Near  to 
our  place  are  sonic  charming  old  ruins,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  the 
delightful  hours  that  Esther  and  I  have  spent  there.  Truly,  the 
lines  have  fallen  to  us  in  pleasant  places. 

"  I  have  not  yet  seen  Tina,  —  she  is  abroad  travelling  on 
the  Continent.  She  writes  to  us  often  ;  but,  Horace,  her  letters 
begin  to  have  the  undertone  of  pain  in  them,  —  her.  skies  are  cer- 
tainly beginning  to  fade.  From  some  sources  upon  which  I  place 
reliance,  I  hear  Ellery  Davenport  spoken  of  as  a  daring,  plau- 
sible, but  unscrupulous  man.  He  is  an  intrigant  in  politics,  and 
has  no  domestic  life  in  him  ;  while  Tina,  however  much  she  loves 
and  appreciates  admiration,  has  a  perfect  woman's  heart.  Ad- 
miration without  love  would  never  satisfy  her.  I  can  see,  through 
all  the  excuses  of  her  letters,  that  he  is  going  very  much  one  way 
and  she  another,  that  he  has  his  engagements,  and  she  hers, 
and  that  they  see,  really,  very  little  of  each  other,  and  that  all 
this  makes  her  sad  and  unhappy.  The  fact  is,  I  suppose,  he  has 
played  with  his  butterfly  until  there  is  no  more  down  on  its 
wings,  and  he  is  on  the  chase  after  new  ones.  Such  is  my  read- 
ing of  poor  Tina's  lot." 

When  I  took  this  letter  to  Miss  Mehitable,  she  told  me  that  a, 
similar  impression  had  long  since  been  produced  on  her  mind  by 
passages  which  she  had  read  in  hers.  Tina  often  spoke  of  the 
little  girl  as  very  lovely,  and  as  her  greatest  earthly  comfort. 
A  little  one  of  her  own,  born  in  England,  had  died  early,  and 
her  affections  seemed  thus  to  concentrate  more  entirely  upon  the 
child  of  her  adoption.  She  described  her  with  enthusiasm,  as  a 
child  of  rare  beauty  and  talent,  with  capabilities  of  enthusiastic 
affection. 

"  Let  us  hope,"  said  I,  "  that  she  does  take  her  heart  from  her 
mother.  Ellery  Davenport  is  just  one  of  those  men  that  women 
are  always  wrecking  themselves  on,  —  men  that  have  strong 
capabilities  of  passion,  and  very  little  capability  of  affection,  —  men 
that  have  no  end  of  sentiment,  and  scarcely  the  beginning  of  real 
feeling.  They  make  bewitching  lovers,  but  terrible  husbands." 

One  of  the  greatest  solaces  of  my  life  during  this  period  was 


600  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

my  friendship  with  dear  old  Madam  Kittery.  Ever  since  the 
time  when  I  had  first  opened  to  her  my  boyish  heart,  she  had 
seemed  to  regard  me  with  an  especial  tenderness,  and  to  connect 
me  in  some  manner  with  the  image  of  her  lost  son.  The  assist- 
ance that  she  gave  me  in  my  educational  career  was  viewed 
by  her  as  a  species  of  adoption.  Her  eye  always  brightened, 
and  a  lovely  smile  broke  out  upon  her  face,  when  I  came  to 
pass  an  hour  with  her.  Time  had  treated  her  kindly  ;  sh,e  still 
retained  the  gentle  shrewdness,  the  love  of  literature,  and  the 
warm  kindness  which  had  been  always  charms  in  her.  Some 
of  my  happiest  hours  were  passed  in  reading  to  her.  Chapter 
after  chapter  in  her  well-worn  Bible  needed  no  better  commen- 
tary than  the  sweet  brightness  of  her  dear  old  face,  and  her  occa- 
sional fervent  responses.  Many  Sabbaths,  when  her  increasing 
infirmities  detained  her  from  church,  I  spent  in  a  tender,  holy  rest 
by  her  side.  Then  I  would  read  from  her  prayer-book  the  morn- 
ing service,  not  omitting  the  prayer  that  she  loved,  for  the  King 
and  the  royal  family,  and  then,  sitting  hand  in  hand,  we  talked  to- 
gether of  sacred  things,  and  I  often  wondered  to  see  what  strength 
and  discrimination  there  were  in  the  wisdom  of  love,  and  how  unerr- 
ing were  the  decisions  that  she  often  made  in  practical  questions. 
In  fact,  I  felt  myself  drawn  to  Madam  Kittery  by  a  closer,  tenderer 
tie  than  even  to  my  own  grandmother.  I  had  my  secret  remorse 
for  this,  and  tried  to  quiet  myself  by  saying  that  it  was  because, 
living  in  Boston,  I  saw  Madam  Kittery  oftener.  But,  after  all,  is 
it  not  true  that,  as  we  g^y  older,  the  relationship  of  souls  will 
make  itself  felt  ?  I  revered  and  loved  my  grandmother,  but  I 
never  idealized  her ;  but  my  attachment  to  Madam  Kittery  was 
a  species  of  poetic  devotion.  There  was  a  slight  flavor  of  ro- 
mance in  it,  such  as  cornes  with  the  attachments  of  our  maturer 
life  oftener  than  with  those  of  our  childhood. 

Miss  Debby  looked  on  me  with  eyes  of  favor.  In  her  own 
way  she  really  was  quite  as  much  my  friend  as  her  mother.  She 
fellinto  the  habit  of  consulting  me  upon  her  business  affairs,  and 
asking  my  advice  in  a  general  way  about  the  arrangements  of  life. 

"  I  don't  see,"  I  said  to  Madam  Kittery,  one  day,  "  why  Miss 
Deborah  always  asks  my  advice ;  she  never  takes  it." 


WHAT    CAME   OF   IT.  601 

"  My  dear,"  said  she,  with  the  quiet  smile  with  which  she  often 
looked  on  her  daughter's  proceedings,  "  Debby  wants  somebody 
to  ask  advice  of.  When  she  gets  it,  she  is  settled  at  once  as  to 
what  she  don't  want  to  do  ;  and  that 's  something." 

Miss  Debby  once  came  to  me  with  a  face  of  great  perplexity. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,  Horace.  Our  Thomas  is  a  very 
valuable  man,  and  he  has*  always  been  in  the  family.  I  don't, 
know  anything  how  we  should  get  along  without  him,  but  he  is 
getting  into  bad  ways." 

«  Ah,"  said  I,  "  what  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see  it  all  comes  of  this  modern  talk  about  the  rights 
of  the  people.  I've  instructed  Thomas  as  faithfully  as  ever  a 
woman  could ;  but  —  do  you  believe  me  ?  —  he  goes  to  the  primary 
meetings.  I  have  positive,  reliable  information  that  he  does." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Kittery,  I  suppose  it 's  his  right  as  a  citizen." 

"  O,  fiddlestick  and  humbug  !  "  said  Miss  Debby  ;  "  and  it  may 
be  my  right  to  turn  him  out  of  my  service.'' 

"  And  would  not  that,  after  all,  be  more  harm  to  you  than  to 
him  ?  "  suggested  I. 

Miss  Debby  swept  up  the  hearth  briskly,  tapped  on  her  snuff- 
box, and  finally  said  she  had  forgotten  her  handkerchief,  and  left 
the  room. 

Old  Madam  Kittery  laughed  a  quiet  laugh.  "  Poor  Debby," 
she  said,  "  she  '11  have  to  come  to  it ;  the  world  will  go  on." 

Thomas  kept  his  situation  for  some  years  longer,  till,  having 
bought  a  snug  place,  and  made  some  favorable  investments,  he 
at  last  announced  to  Miss  Debby  that,  having  been  appointed 
constable,  with  a  commission  from  the  governor,  his  official 
duties  would  not  allow  of  his  continuance  in  her  service. 


26 


602  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 


CHAPTER    L. 

THE     LAST     CHAPTER. 

IT  was  eight  years  after  Tina  left  us  on  the  wharf  in  Boston 
when  I  met  her  again.  Ellery  Davenport  had  returned  to 
this  country,  and  taken  a  house  in  Boston.  I  was  then  a  law- 
yer established  there  in  successful  business. 

Ellery  Davenport  met  me  with  open-handed  cordiality,  and 
Tina  with  warm  sisterly  affection ;  and  their  house  became  one 
of  my  most  frequent  visiting-places.  Knowing  Tina  by  a  species 
of  divination,  as  I  always  had,  it  was  easy  for  me  to  see  through 
all  those  sacred  little  hypocrisies  by  which  good  women  instinc- 
tively plead  and  intercede  for  husbands  whom  they  themselves 
have  found  out.  Michelet  says,  somewhere,  that  "  in  marriage 
the  maternal  feeling  becomes  always  the  strongest  in  woman,  and 
in  time  it  is  the  motherly  feeling  with  which  she  regards  her  hus- 
band." She  cares  for  him,  watches  over  him,  with  the  indefati- 
gable tenderness  which  a  mother  gives  to  a  son. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  Tina's  affection  for  her  husband  was  no 
longer  a  blind,  triumphant  adoration  for  an  idealized  hero,  nor  the 
confiding  dependence  of  a  happy  wife,  but  the  careworn  anxiety 
of  one  who  constantly  seeks  to  guide  and  to  restrain.  And  I  was 
not  long  in  seeing  the  cause  of  this  anxiety. 

Ellery  Davenport  was  smitten  with  that  direst  curse,  which, 
like  the  madness  inflicted  on  the  heroes  of  some  of  the  Greek 
tragedies,  might  seem  to  be  the  vengeance  of  some  incensed 
divinity.  He  was  going  down  that  dark  and  slippery  road,  up 
which  so  few  return.  We  were  all  fully  aware  that  at  many 
times  our  Tina  had  all  the  ghastly  horrors  of  dealing  with  a  mad- 
man. Even  when  he  was  himself  again,  and  sought,  by  vows, 
promises,  and  illusive  good  resolutions,  to  efface  the  memory 
of  the  past,  and  give  security  for  the  future,  there  was  no  rest 
for  Tina.  In  her  dear  eyes  I  could  read  always  that  sense  of 


THE   LAST    CHAPTER.  603 

overhanging  dread,  that  helpless  watchfulness,  which  one  may 
see  in  the  eyes  of  so  many  poor  women  in  our  modern  life,  whose 
days  are  haunted  by  a  fear  they  dare  not  express,  and  who 
must  smile,  and  look  gay,  and  seem  confiding,  when  their  very 
souls  are  failing  them  for  fear.  Still  these  seasons  of  madness 
did  not  seem  for  a  while  to  impair  the  vigor  of  Ellery  Daven- 
port's mind,  nor  the  feverish  intensity  of  his  ambition.  He  was 
absorbed  in  political  life,  in  a  wild,  daring,  unprincipled  way,  and 
made  frequent  occasions  to  leave  Tina  alone  in  Boston,  while 
he  travelled  around  the  country,  pursuing  his  intrigues.  In  one 
of  these  absences,  it  was  his  fate  at  last  to  fall  in  a  political  duel. 

*  #  *  #  * 

Ten  years  after  the  gay  and  brilliant  scene  in  Christ  Church, 
some  of  those  who  wene  present  as  wedding  guests  were  again 
convened  to  tender  the  last  offices  to  the  brilliant  and  popular 
Ellery  Davenport.  Among  the  mourners  at  the  grave,  two 
women  who  had  loved  him  truly  stood  arm  in  arm. 

After  his  death,  it  seemed,  by  the  general  consent  of  all,  the 
kindest  thing  that  could  be  done  for  him,  to  suffer  the  veil  of  si- 
lence to  fall  over  his  memory. 

*  *  *  *  # 

Two  years  after  that,  one  calm,  lovely  October  morning,  a  quiet 
circle  of  friends  stood  around  the  altar  of  the  old  church,  when 
Tina  and  I  were  married.  Our  wedding  journey  was  a  visit 
to  Harry  and  Esther  in  England.  Since  then,  the  years  have 
come  and  gone  softly. 

Ellery  Davenport  now  seems  to  us  as  a  distant  dream  of 
another  life,  recalled  chiefly  by  the  beauty  of  his  daughter, 
whose  growing  loveliness  is  the  principal  ornament  of  our  home. 

Miss  Mehitable  and  Emily  form  one  circle  with  us.  Nor 
does  the  youthful  Emily  know  why  she  is  so  very  dear  to  the 
saintly  woman  whose  prayers  and  teachings  are  such  a  benedic- 
tion in  our  family. 

******* 

Not  long  since  we  spent  a  summer  vacation  at  Oldtown,  to 
explore  once  more  the  old  scenes,  and  to  show  to  young  Master 
Harry  and  Miss  Tina  the  places  that  their  parents  had  told  them 


604  OLDTOWN  FOLKS. 

of.  Many  changes  have  taken  place  in  the  old  homestead.  The 
serene  old  head  of  my  grandfather  has  been  laid  beneath  the 
green  sod  of  the  burying-ground  ;  and  my  mother,  shortly  after, 
was  laid  by  him. 

Old  Parson  Lothrop  continued  for  some  years,  with  his  antique 
dress  and  his  antique  manners,  respected  in  Oldtown  as  the  shad- 
owy minister  of  the  past ;  while  his  colleague,  Mr.  Mordecai 
Rossiter,  edified  his  congregation  with  the  sharpest  and  most 
stringent  new  school  Calvinism.  To  the  last,  Dr.  Lothrop  re- 
mained faithful  to  his  Arminian  views,  and  regarded  the  spread 
of  the  contrary  doctrines,  as  a  decaying  old  minister  is  apt  to,  as 
a  personal  reflection  upon  himself.  In  his  last  illness,  which  was 
very  distressing,  he  was  visited  by  a  zealous  Calvinistic  brother 
from  a  neighboring  town,  who,  on  the  strength  of  being  a  family 
connection,  thought  it  his  duty  to  go  over  and  make  one  last  effort 
to  revive  the  orthodoxy  of  his  venerable  friend.  Dr.  Lothrop  re- 
ceived him  politely,  and  with  his  usual  gentlemanly  decorum  re- 
mained for  a  long  time  in  silence  listening  to  his  somewhat  pro- 
tracted arguments  and  statements.  As  he  gave  no  reply,  his 
friend  at  last  said  to  him,  "  Dr.  Lothrop,  perhaps  you  are  weak, 
and  this  conversation  disturbs  you  ?  " 

u  I  should  be  weak  indeed,  if  I  allowed  such  things  as  you 
have  been  saying  to  disturb  me,"  replied  the  stanch  old  doctor. 

"  He  died  like  a  philosopher,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Lothrop  to 
me,  "just  as  he  always  lived." 

My  grandmother,  during  the  last  part  of  her  life,  was  totally 
blind.  One  would  have  thought  that  a  person  of  her  extreme 
activity  would  have  been  restless  and  wretched  under  this 
deprivation  ;  but  in  her  case  blindness  appeared  to  be  indeed 
what  Milton  expressed  it  as  being,  "an  overshadowing  of  the 
wings  of  the  Almighty."  Every  earthly  care  was  hushed,  and 
her  mind  turned  inward,  in  constant  meditation  upon  those  great 
religious  truths  which  had  fed  her  life  for  so  many  years. 

Aunt  Lois  we  found  really  quite  lovely.  There  is  a  class  of 
women  who  are  like  winter  apples,  —  all  their  youth  they  are 
crabbed  and  hard,  but  at  the  further  end  of  life  they  are  full  of 
softness  and  refreshment.  The  wrinkles  had  really  almost 


THE   LAST   CHAPTER.  605 

smoothed  themselves  out  in  Aunt  Lois's  face,  and  our  children 
found  in  her  the  most  indulgent  and  painstaking  of  aunties, 
ready  to  run,  and  wait,  and  tend,  and  fetch,  and  carry,  and  willing 
to  put  everything  in  the  house  at  their  disposal.  In  fact,  the 
young  gentleman  and  lady  found  the  old  homestead  such  very 
free  and  easy  ground  that  they  announced  to  us  that  they  pre- 
ferred altogether  staying  there  to  being  in  Boston,  especially  as 
they  had  the  barn  to  romp  in. 

One  Saturday  afternoon,  Tina  and  I  drove  over  to  Needmore 
with  a  view  to  having  one  more  gossip  with  Sam  Lawson.  Hep- 
sy,  it  appears,  had  departed  this  life,  and  Sam  had  gone  over  to 
live  with  a  son  of  his  in  Needmore.  We  found  him  roosting 
placidly  in  the  porch  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  house. 

"  Why,  lordy  massy,  bless  your  soul  an'  body,  ef  that  ain't 
Horace  Holyoke ! "  he  said,  when  he  recognized  who  I  was. 

"  An'  this  'ere  's  your  wife,  is  it  ?  Wai,  wal,  how  this  'ere 
world  does  turn  round !  Wal,  now,  who  would  ha'  thought  it  ? 
Here  you  be,  and  Tiny  with  you.  Wal,  wal !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  here  we  are." 

"  Wal,  now,  jest  sit  down,"  said  Sam,  motioning  us  to  a  seat  in 
the  porch.  "  I  was  jest  kind  o'  'flectin'  out  here  in  the  sun ;  ben 
a  readin'  in  the  Missionary  Herald ;  they  've  ben  a  sendin'  mis- 
sionaries to  Otawhity,  an'  they  say  that  there  ain't  no  winter 
there,  an'  the  bread  jest  grows  on  the  trees,  so  't  they  don't  hev  to 
make  none,  an'  there  ain't  no  wood-piles  nor  splittin'  wood,  nor 
nothin'  o'  that  sort  goin'  on,  an'  folks  don't  need  no  clothes  to 
speak  on.  Now,  I 's  jest  thinkin'  that  'ere  's  jest  the  country  to 
suit  me.  I  wonder,  now,  ef  they  could  n't  find  suthin'  for  me  to 
do  out  there.  I  could  shoe  the  bosses,  ef  they  hed  any,  and  I 
could  teach  the  natives  their  catechize,  and  kind  o'  help  round 
gin'ally.  These  'ere  winters  gits  so  cold  here  I  'm  e'en  a'most 
crooked  up  with  the  rheumatiz  — " 

«  Why,  Sam,"  said  Tina,  "  where  is  Hepsy  ?" 

"  Law,  now,  hain't  ye  heerd  ?  Why,  H<3psy,  she  's  been  dead, 
wal,  let  me  see,  'twas  three  year  the  fourteenth  o'  last  May  when 
Hepsy  died,  but  she  was  clear  wore  out  afore  she  died.  Wal,  jest 
half  on  her  was  clear  paralyzed,  poor  crittur ;  she  could  n't  speak 


606  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

a  word ;  that  'ere  was  a  gret  trial  to  her.  I  don't  think  she  was 
resigned  under  it.  Hepsy  hed  an  awful  sight  o'  grit.  I  used  to 
talk  to  Hepsy,  an'  talk,  an'  try  to  set  things  afore  her  in  the  best 
way  I  could,  so  's  to  git  'er  into  a  better  state  o'  mind.  D'  you 
b'lieve,  one  day  when  I  'd  ben  a  talkin'  to  her,  she  kind  o'  made  a 
motion  to  me  with  her  eye,  an'  when  I  went  up  to  'er,  what 
d'  you  think  ?  why,  she  jest  tuk  and  BIT  me  !  she  did  so !  " 

"  Sam,"  said  Tina,  "  I  sympathize  with  Hepsy.  I  believe  if  I 
had  to  be  talked  to  an  hour,  and  could  n't  answer,  I  should  bite." 

"  Jes'  so,  jes'  so,"  said  Sam.  "  I  'spex  't  is  so.  You  see,  women 
must  talk,  there  's  where  't  is.  Wai,  now,  don't  ye  remember 
that  Miss  Bell,  —  Miss  Miry  Bell  ?  She  was  of  a  good  family 
in  Boston.  They  used  to  board  her  out  to  Oldtown,  'cause 
she  was  's  crazy  's  a  loon.  They  jest  let  'er  go  'bout,  'cause 
she  did  n't  hurt  nobody,  but  massy,  her  tongue  used  ter 
run  's  ef  't  was  hung  in  the  middle  and  run  both  ends.  Ye 
really  could  n't  hear  yourself  think  when  she  was  round. 
Wai,  she  was  a  visitin'  Parson  Lothrop,  an'  ses  he,  (  Miss  Bell, 
do  pray  see  ef  you  can't  be  still  a  minute.'  '  Lord  bless  ye,  Dr. 
Lothrop,  I  can't  stop  talking ! '  ses  she.  *  Wai,'  ses  he,  '  you 
jest  take  a  mouthful  o'  water  an*  hold  in  your  mouth,  an'  then 
mebbe  ye  ken  stop.'  Wai,  she  took  the  water,  an'  she  sot  still  a 
minute  or  two,  an'  it  kind  o'  worked  on  'er  so  't  she  jumped  up 
an'  twitched  off  Dr.  Lothrop's  wig  an'  spun  it  right  acrost  the 
room  inter  the  fireplace.  '  Bless  me  !  Miss  Bell,'  ses  he,  '  spit 
out  yer  water  an'  talk,  ef  ye  must ! '  I  've  offun  thought  on  't," 
said  Sam.  "  I  s'pose  Hepsy 's  felt  a  good  'eal  so.  Wai,  poor  soul, 
she  's  gone  to  'er  rest.  We  're  all  on  us  goiu',  one  arter  another. 
Yer  grandther  's  gone,  an'  yer  mother,  an'  Parson  Lothrop,  he  's 
gone,  an'  Lady  Lothrop,  she  's  kind  o'  solitary.  I  went  over  to 
see  'er  last  week,  an'  ses  she  to  me,  *  Sam,  I  dunno  nothin'  what 
I  shell  do  with  my  hosses.  I  feed  'em  well,  an'  they  ain't 
worked  hardly  any,  an'  yet  they  act  so  't  I  'm  'most  afeard  to 
drive  out  with  'em.'  I  'm  thinkin'  't  would  be  a  good  thing  ef 
she  'd  give  up  that  'ere  place  o'  hern,  an'  go  an'  live  in  Boston 
with  her  sister." 

"Well,  Sam,"  said  Tina,  "what  has  become  of  Old  Crab 
Smith?  Is  he  alive  yet?" 


THE   LAST   CHAPTER.  607 

"  Law,  yis,  he  's  creepin'  round  here  yit ;  but  the  old  woman, 
she  's  dead,"  said  Sam.  "  I  tell  you  she  's  a  hevin'  her  turn  o' 
hectorin'  him  now,  'cause  she  keeps  appearin'  to  him,  an'  scares 
the  old  critter  'most  to  death." 

"Appears  to  him?"  said  T.  "Why,  what  do  you  mean, 
Sam?"- 

"  Wai,  jest  as  true  's  you  live  an'  breathe,  she  does  'pear  to 
him,"  said  Sam.  "  Why,  't  was  only  last  week  my  son  Luke  an' 
I,  we  was  a  settin'  by  the  fire  here,  an'  I  was  a  holdin'  a  skein  o' 
yarn  for  Malviny  to  wind  (Malviny,  she  's  Luke's  wife),  when 
who  should  come  in  but  Old  Crab,  head  first,  lookin'  so  scart  an' 
white  about  the  gills  thet  Luke,  ses  he,  '  Why,  Mistur  Smith ! 
what  ails  ye?'  ses  he.  Wai,  the  critter  was  so  scared  't  he 
could  n't  speak,  he  jest  set  down  in  the  chair,  an'  he  shuk  so  't 
he  shuk  the  chair,  an'  his  teeth,  they  chattered,  an'  't  was  a  long 
time  'fore  they  could  git  it  out  on  him.  But  come  to,  he  told  us, 
't  was  a  bright  moonlight  night,  an'  he  was  comin'  'long  down  by 
the  Stone  pastur,  when  all  of  a  suddin  he  IOOKS  up  an'  there  was 
his  wife  walkin  right  'long-side  on  him,  —  he  ses  he  never  see 
nothin'  plainer  in  his  life  than  he  see  the  old  woman,  jest  in  her 
short  gown  an'  petticut  't  she  allers  wore,  with  her  gold  beads 
round  her  neck,  an'  a  cap  on  with  a  black  ribbon  round  it,  an'  there 
she  kep'  a  walkin'  right  'long-side  of  'im,  her  elbow  a  touchin'  hisn, 
all  'long  the  road,  an'  when  he  walked  faster,  she  walked  faster, 
an'  when  he  walked  slower,  she  walked  slower,  an'  her  eyes  was 
sot,  an'  fixed  on  him,  but  she  did  n't  speak  no  word,  an'  he  did  n't 
darse  to  speak  to  her.  Finally,  he  ses  he  gin  a  dreadful  yell  an' 
run  with  all  his  might,  an'  our  house  was  the  very  fust  place  he 
tumbled  inter.  Lordy  massy,  wal,  I  could  n't  help  thinkin'  't 
sarved  him  right.  I  told  Sol  'bout  it,  last  town-meetin'  day,  an' 
Sol,  I  thought  he  'd  ha'  split  his  sides.  Sol  said  he  did  n't 
know  's  the  old  woman  had  so  much  sperit.  *  Lordy  massy,'  ses 
he, '  ef  she  don't  do  nothin'  more  'n  take  a  walk  'long-side  on  him 
now  an'  then,  why,  I  say,  let  'er  rip,  —  sarves  him  right.'  " 

"  Well,"  said  Tina,  "  I  'm  glad  to  hear  about  Old  Sol ;  how  is 
he?" 

"  0,  Sol  ?      Wal,  he  's  doin'  fustrate.      He  married  Deacon 


608  OLDTOWN   FOLKS. 

'Bijah  Smith's  darter,  an'  he  's  got  a  good  farm  of  his  own,  an' 
boys  bigger  'n  you  be,  considerable." 

"  Well,"  said  Tina,  "  how  is  Miss  Asphyxia  ?  " 

"  Wai,  Sol  told  me  't  she  'd  got  a  cancer  or  suthin'  or  other  the 
matter  with  'er ;  but  the  old  gal,  she  jest  sets  her  teeth  hard,  an' 
goes  on  a  workiri'.  She  won't  have  no  doctor,  nor  nothin'  done 
for  'er,  an'  I  expect  bimeby  she  '11  die,  a  standin'  up  in  the  har- 
ness." 

"  Poor  old  creature !  I  wonder,  Horace,  if  it  would  do  any 
good  for  me  to  go  and  see  her.  Has  she  a  soul,  I  wonder,  or  is 
she  nothing  but  a  '  working  machine '  ?  " 

"  Wai,  I  dunno,"  said  Sam.  "  This  'ere  world  is  cur'us. 
When  we  git  to  thinkin'  about  it,  we  think  ef  we  'd  ha'  had  the 
makin'  on  't,  things  would  ha'  ben  made  someways  diffurnt  from 
what  they  be.  But  then  things  is  just  as  they  is,  an'  we  can't 
help  it.  Sometimes  I  think  "  said  Sam,  embracing  his  knee  pro- 
foundly, "  an'  then  agin  I  dunno. There  's  all  sorts  o'  folks 

hes  to  be  in  this  'ere  world,  an'  I  s'pose  the  Lord  knows  what  he 
wants  'em  fur  ;  but  I  'm  sure"  I  don't.  I  kind  o'  hope  the  Lord  '11 
fetch  everybody  out  'bout  right  some  o'  these  'ere  times.  He  ain't 
got  nothin'  else  to  do,  an'  it 's  his  lookout,  an'  not  ourn,  what 

comes  of  'em  all. But  I  should  like  to  go  to  Otawhity,  an'  ef 

you  see  any  o'  these  missionary  folks,  Horace,  I  wish  you  'd 
speak  to  'ein  about  it." 


THE    END. 


Cambridge :  Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


